


Live. Die. Repeat.

by greenteafiend



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Inspired by Edge of Tomorrow, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Keith is badass, M/M, Panic Attacks, Samoan Hunk (Voltron), Serious Injuries, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Time Loop, Whump, everyone dies but they don't stay dead, idk - Freeform, lance is good at getting himself killed, mild homophobia, should I tag this major character death if they don't actually stay dead?, this is very frustrating for keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenteafiend/pseuds/greenteafiend
Summary: On the day of the arrival Keith is forced to watch as a mysterious monster slaughters first Shiro, and then his classmates from the Garrison, one by one. It kills him too, but not before he manages to wound it grievously.And then he wakes up back in bed that morning, alive and unharmed.aka Keith is stuck in a time-loop and every time he dies, the day resets.





	1. Prologue: Original Run

**Prologue:**

_My fellow Americans, and people of the world, I'd planned to speak to you tonight to report on the state of the Union, but the events of earlier today have led me to change those plans. Today is a day for mourning and remembering._

_I am pained to the core by the tragedy of Kerberos Mission 1. I know I share this pain with you and all of the people of our country. This is truly a national loss._

_We've never lost an astronaut in the outer reaches of the solar system; we've never had a tragedy like this. And perhaps we've forgotten the courage it took for the crew of the shuttle; but they, Kerberos Mission 1, were aware of the dangers, but overcame them and did their jobs bravely. We mourn three heroes today: Matthew Holt, Samuel Holt and Takashi Shirogane._

 

* * *

 

Keith had been floating around in a numb haze, hardly able to process, much less accept, the news.

And then after a week the reason for the loss of the mission was revealed to the public; pilot error.

_Pilot error._

He very suddenly wasn’t numb anymore, he was incredulous, shocked, but above all _enraged_.

How dare they? They were lying. The Galaxy Garrison was _lying_ right to everyone’s faces, and Keith was going to find out the truth no matter what.

He _had_ to, for Shiro.

 

* * *

 

 

**6 Months Later**

**Original Run**

 

Keith had staked out this vantage point weeks ago, high on a rocky cliff top where he had panoramic views of the desert sprawling in every direction away from him.

To the North he could just make out the faint glimmering outline of the Galaxy Garrison. The sight of that imposing structure, impossibly large, sleek, and modern, used to be comforting to Keith. It used to feel like home.

Now he’d rather look at anything else, which in the desert meant sand, cacti, and desert grass because that was all there was.

Craggy cliffs broke up the flatness of the desert, interrupting the even line of the horizon.

Keith had spent the whole day waiting, watching the vivid yellows, oranges and reds of the endless sand and rock leach away with the fading sunlight. The colours became muted and shadowy under the silvery glow of the moon.

The desert got cold at night, and Keith had long pulled on his red leather biker jacket to ward off the chill.  

He wasn’t a patient person by nature, so being forced to sit and wait for something to happen was killing him, especially seeing as he wasn’t sure what exactly he was waiting for.

He was bored, restless, and impatient.

To keep himself occupied he drew patterns into the dirt using the sharp tip of his dagger with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary. He didn’t need a flashlight to trace the outlines of a crudely drawn lion, the moon was bright and he’d always had particularly good night vision.

He yawned widely, the exhale coming out in a white puff of condensation in the cold.

He was staring at the swirling spirals of his breath, contemplating whether to try blowing rings, when a spark of light in the distance caught his attention.

His head snapped up and he focused on the spark, watched it grow bigger. No, it wasn’t growing, it was getting _closer_.

It was an object, blazing across the night sky like a meteor, blinding in its brightness.

“Holy shit,” Keith murmured.

It crashed in the desert with an earth-shattering boom, closer to the Garrison than to his position but he still felt the ground tremble.

This was it, what he had been waiting for. After months of anticipation, it had finally arrived.

Keith shoved his dagger into its holster and scrambled to climb down the steep edge of the cliff.

Luckily he was agile and surefooted enough to make it down without breaking his neck despite his haste. All that time in his childhood spent climbing trees to get away from the other kids in group homes was paying off.  

He straight up leapt down the last two meters, landing in a crouch, and then he was sprinting for his hover-bike.

He gunned it as fast as he could, skimming above the desert sand like a shark cutting through water, almost vibrating with anticipation.  

By the time Keith reached the landing site, the Garrison personnel had already swarmed the area. He dared not fly in too close least they take note of his presence, so he parked his bike and crept closer on foot under the cover of darkness.

The impact crater was smaller than Keith would have expected, less than ten meters in diameter, and at the centre there was a _ship._ An _alien_ ship, like nothing Keith had ever seen. It was all seamlessly smooth edges and glowing violet lights, only about the size of a large SUV; clearly not engineered by humans.

Keith wished he could get closer to it; he wanted to run his fingertips over the smooth metal. He wanted to scrutinise every inch of it.

He watched unblinkingly as people scurried around frantically, wisps of yelled orders carrying to his ears on the wind. There were half a dozen people crowded around the ship with various mechanical implements, evidently trying to pry the thing open.

A few meters away from the edge of the crater other people looked like they were in the middle of setting up some sort of shelter, along with and flood lights.

Gradually the shelter took shape until Keith could finally recognise it for what it was: a mobile med unit.

It looked like a large geometrical igloo, constructed out of interconnected triangles for the frame with a plastic tarp laid over top. It was about the size of an average classroom, with an extra-long traditional igloo entrance that was tall enough to admit people without them needing to slouch.

Suddenly he heard a whoop of triumph, muted because of the distance; they had managed to pry the spaceship open.

There were too many people in the way for him to see what emerged, but he got the vague impression of a humanoid shaped body.

If he was going to get a closer look, he needed a distraction.

Luckily, he’d packed explosives for this exact eventuality.

It took a bit of time to set up, but thirty minutes later his homemade explosives went off in the distance, shaking the ground and painting the horizon red and yellow.  

Just as he intended, the main contingent of Garrison personnel flew to their vehicles and sped away to check it out.   

Meanwhile, Keith glided in from the opposite direction and parked his hover-bike closer, behind a rocky outcrop.

He pulled up the bandana tied around his neck so it covered his mouth and nose, and made a break for the med-unit.

He wanted to see what they pulled out of that ship…

The outer set of doors swished open for him automatically, revealing a short corridor which led to a second set of inner doors.

Here is hesitated for a split second, thinking he should probably consider whether charging in was going to be a biohazard, whether he might be eaten by aliens or who might be beyond the door…

… _Or_ , he could just charge in and wing it?  

The second set of doors swished open for him too, and inside he could see that there were three med-techs dressed in hazmat suits, and a body strapped down to a metal bench in the centre of the room.

“Hey!” growled one of the med-techs, and then all three were running for him so Keith did what he did best: put his fists up, and used them.  

He knocked all three men out one after the other with laughable ease, clearly they were just scientists, not combat trained.

If they were combat trained they wouldn’t have gone for him one by one like lemmings lining up to fall over a cliff, and they would have actually been able to take a hit without folding like a deck of cards.

Nonetheless, he rushed past their prone bodies, hopping over one, to see who or what they had strapped down.

It was-

“ _Shiro?_ ”

Keith hesitantly gripped Shiro’s chin and tilted it towards himself, pulling down his bandana for a better view.

He could hardly believe his eyes, but here Shiro was.

His right arm was no longer human, in its place was a metallic prosthetic connected mid-bicep. There was a nasty scar cutting through the bridge of his nose and his forelock of hair was a shocking white while the rest remained quite black.

He looked different, worse for wear, but it was undoubtedly Shiro.

He eyed the experimental equipment in the room and the empty syringes laying on a metal tray nearby.

They’d tranquilized him. They’d tranquilized him, like a rabid animal. And that meant he was still alive, and still fighting. He had to get him out of here. Lord knows what the Garrison were going to do with him, these didn’t look like friendly tests.

He pulled out his dagger and cut through the belts holding Shiro down, before pulling Shiro’s human arm over his shoulder and carefully manoeuvring him off the metal bench.

“Nope. Nonono. No you don’t, _I’m_ saving Shiro,” declared an obnoxiously loud voice out of nowhere.  

Keith looked up to see that he had company.

A boy about his age marched across the room towards him, before roughly pushing the metal bench out of the way so he could slot himself under Shiro’s other arm.

His was about the same height as Keith, with the same wiry build. His skin was olive toned, and his brown hair was sporting the signature Garrison military-style haircut that Shiro had popularised before he’d left; short back and sides, a little longer on top.  

In the doorway stood another larger Polynesian boy that looked like he could bench press five of Keith if he wanted to, and a tiny pale girl with choppy light brown hair. All of them were dressed casually.

“Who are you?” Keith asked.

“Who am _I_? Uh, the name’s _Lance_?” the way he said it made it clear that Keith should have recognised him. The boy kept talking in the face of Keith’s blank stare.

“We were in the same class at the Garrison?” he prompted. Huh, the dude _did_ look sort of familiar…

“Really? Were you an, uh, engineer?”

“No I’m a _pilot!_ ” Lance whined, “We were like rivals! You know, Lance and Keith, neck and neck.”

Keith clicked. This guy was the annoying loud-mouth from his old astrophysics class.

“Oh wait, I remember you. You’re a cargo pilot.”

Lance looked at him, affronted, as if ‘cargo pilot’ was an appalling insult.

“Well not anymore! I’m fighter class now thanks to you washing out,” he replied sourly.

“Well, congratulations,” said Keith, equally sour.  

“We should probably go before the Garrison personnel come back,” piped up the boy from the doorway. He sounded surprisingly soft-spoken considering he was built like a brick shit-house.

They all filed out of the med-unit, Lance and Keith hefting Shiro’s not inconsiderable weight between them.

Keith hadn’t taken more than half a dozen steps when a horrifying screech rent the night.

In the distance, Keith could see tangled mess of writhing vines, topped with a gaping maw filled with rows of razor sharp teeth.

The glowing vines twisted together into powerful limbs, which emitted a nauseating blue glow.

It looked like a _monster_.

“Maybe its friendly?” suggested the loud-mouth -  _Lance_  - hesitantly, shifting uneasily underneath Shiro’s other arm.

The thing let out an awful cry, and started charging towards them, its coiling vines condensing properly into four powerful limbs.

Everything after that happened so quickly that Keith barely had time to react. As the thing came barrelling towards them, he unsheathed his dagger and pushed Shiro’s deadweight at Lance in one smooth motion, taking a deliberate step in front of them.

“Get Shiro to my bike,” he barked, and then without waiting to see if the other boy followed his order, he charged.

His knife slashed through the first vine that stabbed at him, and the creature let out an inhuman roar of frustration.

He wasn’t fast enough to dodge the next attack.

One writhing limb split into five sharp vines, and they all impaled his body. One through each shoulder, two in his abdomen, and one through his thigh. Keith screamed like he’d never screamed before, voice catching in his throat and scouring lungs.

He was lifted bodily into the air, and flung aside violently.

The impact when he hit the ground knocked the breath from his body, and he rolled to a halt beside his hover-bike, gasping for breath.

He tried to force himself to get up because he could see the thing advancing on Lance and Shiro, but his limbs wouldn’t obey. Searing pain clouded his senses, and all he could manage was a pathetic twitch.

The worst thing was that Lance wasn’t moving, he was too busy staring at Keith in horror.

Keith tried to scream ‘run!’ but his mouth and throat were too full of blood.

Lance blinked and seemed to snap back to himself, turning back to face the monster.

He threw himself and Shiro to the ground in time to dodge a swipe of one its limb, but then they were trapped with nowhere to go, the monster bearing down on him.

Lance threw his body over Shiro’s, curling around the older man like a protective shield, but it was no use. The creature ran them both through with one sharp vine, stabbing through the middle of Lance’s back, sinking down through the centre of Shiro’s chest underneath.

The creature withdrew the vine slowly, and it came out generously coated in liquid that looked black in the dim light of the moon; blood. Lance’s body convulsed once, before laying unnaturally still. Shiro didn’t move or make a sound. Blood soaked into the parched floor of the desert, surrounding them like an inky-black bloody halo.

“ _N-no_ ,” Keith managed to choke out. Shiro couldn’t be dead, not when Keith had _just_  found him. Lance couldn’t be dead, couldn’t have just sacrificed himself to try and save Shiro, someone he barely even knew.

The foreign presence that had been dully residing in the back of Keith’s mind for the past six months, coaxing him into desert, suddenly twitched violently to the forefront. Instead of the gentle tickle of a slow moving stream that Keith was used to, it was a raging torrent of anguish and rage. Or were those his own feelings? It was hard to tell.  

The creature turned its attention to the remaining survivors, the short girl and the large boy.

The large boy was frozen in fear and the girl was pulling on his arm with all her weight, screaming at him to  _move_.

“Pidge, I want you to run. I’ll buy you some time-” the boy said, snapping out of his stupor, taking a shaky step forward.

“What?! Hunk,  _no!”_

It was too late; the creature was galloping towards them. Hunk gripped Pidge by the shoulders and shoved her towards Keith, towards the hover-bike.

“Fly away Pidge,” his voice wobbled, but his fists didn’t as he raised them in front of himself to face down the monster.

Hunk actually managed to dodge the vine that reached for him, before darting in close to throw a punch at the thing’s jaw.

The blow only served to infuriate it further, and the angry gaping mouth clamped down on Hunk’s shoulder, sinking its sharp teeth into his soft flesh.  

Keith didn’t know whose scream was more terrible, Hunk’s or Pidge’s. Keith felt it reverberate down to his bones. The creature jerked Hunk around like it was a cat and Hunk was a mouse.

Keith blinked and suddenly Pidge’s sweaty tear-stained face was in front of him, blocking him from seeing what the creature was doing to Hunk that made him make such terrible pained sounds.

She snatched his dagger from his limp blood-soaked fingers. Keith managed to raise a hard to grip her wrist as she made to move away. He forced himself to swallow the blood in his mouth so he could speak, despite the sickening metallic taste.   

“T-take the b-bike-” he choked out,  _someone needs to warn the Garrison_. Behind them Hunk screamed, and then there was a sick wet sound, like something was  _tearing_. Pidge slipped out of his grip, and Keith could see that he’d left a bloody handprint on her sleeve.

“Can’t reach the pedals,” she said apologetically, shooting Keith a teary self-deprecating smile before hurtling away.

Keith watched helplessly as Pidge sprinted straight for the creature.

“ _Don’t!_  Pidge! Get aw-” Hunk’s voice cut out abruptly as the creature stomped down purposefully on his head with a sickening _crack_. Keith knew he was gone.

Pidge, tiny tiny Pidge, lunged forward with the dagger raised high, a fierce growl torn from her lips.  

The creature was distracted with Hunk, so she actually managed to land a blow, sinking the dagger into the coiling mass that was above its gaping red-rimmed mouth.

It screeched furiously as fluorescent blue liquid gushed out of the cut, writhing and knocking Pidge to the ground.

It whipped around lightning fast and lashed out violently, spiking vines through Pidge’s body, too many to count. Keith could see astonishment written all over her face. Her eyelids fluttered delicately behind her round glasses, and then the light left her eyes.

The monster tossed her like she was a rag-doll, and she landed with a sickening thud near Shiro and Lance.

Grief and anger lent Keith the strength to struggle back to his feet. Black spots appeared in his vision, but he managed to stagger to his hover-bike.

With shaky blood soaked hands, he opened the compartment under the seat and dragged out the extra explosive.

His legs gave out and he landed in a messy heap on the ground. His head was spinning, blood-loss making him lightheaded, but he refused to give up. 

He fumbled clumsily with the wires, fingers slippery and shaking, bypassing the timer mechanism, setting it to auto-detonate. He was ready.  

“Hey! Come at me!” he bellowed.

The creature turned, finally realizing that Keith wasn’t quite dead yet.

It charged, and once it was on top of him, Keith pulled out the lynch-pin with a bitter smirk.

There was a split second where Keith and the creature were face to face, where Keith could look into its beady fluorescent-blue eyes. 

“You  _lose,_ ” he spat, and then world dissolved into blinding white light and agony. Every inch of him _burned._

Even though this was the end for him, the end for all of them, he took savage satisfaction in knowing he took the monster down with them.

The last thing he felt was something wet and sticky dripping onto his face, and then everything went black.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this chapter and added some stuff in as of 18 Dec for continuity sake of stuff that happens later. Just fleshed some stuff out a bit more so now you don't really need to have watched Voltron/remember what happened in Voltron to get what is going on :)


	2. Resets 1 - 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Keith suffers from déjà vu, and then he just suffers, over and over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This gets quite violent, although it isn't gratuitous I think. 
> 
> Beware.

**Reset 1:**

 

Keith woke up screaming, jack-knifing upwards in shock. He gulped down air desperately in shuddering gasps, his heart racing liked he’d been sprinting for his life.

 

He ran shaky hands over his body, palms to shoulders, to stomach, to thigh, but there were no wounds. There was no blood. He was whole.

 

“J-just a dream,” he mumbled, allowing himself to collapse backwards and stare up at the ceiling.

 

He watched a tiny green lizard creep between the dusty rafters above his head.

 

“A messed up dream.”

 

The foreign presence resonated in his brain, humming more loudly than ever before. For the first time since he started feeling it, it wasn’t comforting. There was a new sense of urgency burning at the back of his mind. _Find me_ it commanded.

 

 _What do you think I’ve been trying to do?_ Keith thought back tiredly.

 

 _Besides, the arrival is happening today. Can’t go caving._ The presence wasn’t happy with that, and Keith felt a low growl rumble across his head-space.

 

He gave the equivalent of a mental shrug.

 

_I’m sorry._

 

* * *

 

During his morning routine, feeling déjà vu every step of the way, Keith rationalized.

 

As he ate lukewarm tinned soup for breakfast (that he could have sworn he’d eaten the day before…) he told himself it was only natural to dream that the arrival would bring back Shiro. It was wishful thinking, nothing more, nothing less, although he did wonder why his brain had conjured up the severe scar across the bridge of Shiro’s nose, and the unnatural tuft of white hair. 

 

As he rode through the desert to the spot he’d scouted a few days earlier, ready for a long stake out, he told himself he’d dreamed up old classmates because he’d been alone for so long. It was just his stupid brain’s way of conjuring up company. He’d been out in the desert long enough to admit that it was bone-achingly lonely.

 

Lance Álvarez and Hunk Savea. They’d been in his class at the Garrison, although he couldn’t remember ever speaking to either of them.

 

He had vague memories of Lance being loud, and much shorter with a rounder face; the boy in his dream must have hit a growth spurt in the year since Keith had been kicked out. Apparently his subconscious had taken that into account.

 

Hunk, who had already cut a hulking figure last Keith remembered, had been even taller and wider in his dreamscape, with longer hair. 

 

As for the third student, Keith had never seen her before. Although now that he thought about it, there had been something vaguely familiar about those round glasses and intelligent hazel eyes… 

 

Keith was jolted from his reverie when his bike spluttered to a standstill.

 

He was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by cacti and tumbleweed. In the distance, the yellow sandstone cliffs were backlit by the early morning sun.

 

The air was still crisp with cold lingering from the frigid desert night.

 

The feeling of déjà vu intensified to a needle sharp point. Keith could have _sworn_ that this had happened to him already, and then he heard it.

 

The sharp cry of a bird of prey.

 

He turned in time to witness a hawk land on cactus nearby, and he stared at it like he’d seen a ghost.

 

He remembered this, it had already happened, he was _certain._ The bird preened for a moment, beak straightening and smoothing out glossy feathers.

 

It took off again a moment later, wings flapping powerfully as it receded into the distance.  

Keith’s mind was in turmoil. This had happened already.

 

His bike had broken down, he’d seen the hawk, and then he’d spent the next hour trying to figure out _why_ his bike had broken down. The day had gotten hotter and hotter as the sun had risen steadily higher, burning away the last vestiges of coolness and threatening to burn Keith’s pale skin.  

 

In the end, the problem boiled down to one of the wires connecting the engine to the solar panels. It had frayed and snapped, a simple problem that had been easy to fix with the few tools he’d had on hand…

 

 

In a suddenly frenzy of movement Keith leapt off the bike and scrambled to jimmy off the back panel. With a sense of anticipation, he carefully shifted some parts to expose the circuitry.

 

Sure enough, a wire was snapped, _exactly_ as he remembered it.

 

He stared for a full minute, his thoughts a stream of ‘ _what the fuck_!’ and ‘ _impossible_!’

 

Although his head felt numb - stuffed with cotton - there was sure-fire certainty burning in his gut. He didn’t know how or why this was happening, _had_ happened, but his instincts were _screaming_ at him that it was real.

 

He was living the same day over again. 

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“Fix the bike first. Don’t panic,” he said to himself sternly.

 

He dug his small toolkit out from the compartment under his seat, shifting aside the explosives to reach it, before setting to work.

 

As he fitted a new fuse into place, he marshalled his thoughts and tried to decide what to do.

 

 _I could go to the Garrison and warn them_ … He dismissed that idea almost immediately. First of all, no one would believe him, (he hardly believed _himself_ ) and more importantly, they’d strapped down Shiro and drugged him like he was an enemy. He couldn’t trust the Garrison.

 

There was really only one course of action that felt acceptable to him.

 

_This time I’ll kill it._

 

If everything did play out the same, if the arrival really _was_ Shiro, this time he would kill that monster before it was could so much as _touch_ the others. Even if he had to tear it apart with his bare hands.  

 

* * *

 

“…How old are you kid?”

 

The man at the gun store raised his eyes from the sizable pile of weapons Keith had stacked on the counter-top to meet his gaze with a distrustful frown.

 

“Eighteen.”

 

“… and what’d you say you needed this for?”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“Well now I’m asking, what do you need this for?”

 

Great. _Of course_ Keith would get a responsible gun seller. The money lender he’d visited just before this had asked him less questions.

 

“Hunting,” he replied shortly.

 

“You need three handguns, a semiautomatic rifle, a shot gun, sixteen boxes of ammo for each apiece, a grappling hook, and not one, but _two_ switchblades, to go hunting?”

 

“Yes. Could I also get a bear-trap?” asked Keith politely, pointing to the displayed bear-trap behind the counter.

 

The man’s eyebrows rose and disappeared underneath his trucker hat.

 

“What’re you hunting?” he demanded.

 

“…Uh, ducks?” people hunted ducks right? That was a thing? Keith had a vague recollection of watching an ancient cartoon at one of his foster homes where a duck and a rabbit were arguing about hunting.

 

“Duck season ended in November.”

 

 _Shit_ , he should have said rabbits.

 

“Also, all of this looks like you’re going to _annihilate_ those ducks, not hunt them.”

 

“Look, are you going to let me buy this stuff or what?” huffed Keith impatiently.

 

“You better check your attitude boy. I ain’t selling you _shit_ unless I’m satisfied you ain’t gonna do nothing stupid.”

 

Was trying to kill a monster stupid?

 

“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” to his own ears he didn’t sound convincing. The shopkeeper certainly didn’t look convinced

 

“Tell you what-” the owner pushed one of the hand-guns into Keith’s palm, “-show me you know how to handle a gun. Show me you understand gun safety.”

 

Keith blanked.

 

He’d shot lasers in the Garrison simulators, but he’d never actually used a _real_ gun before. He just figured that guns were a good way to kill monsters which had led him to this tiny pokey store. 

 

He assumed you put bullets in, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Surely it wasn’t that complicated?

 

Apparently it was because he couldn’t even figure out how to open the bullet chamber, let alone how to turn off the safety.

 

How had he lived in Texas most of his life without learning how to handle a gun?

 

The shopkeeper let him fumble for a minute before confiscating the gun with a curt “I didn’t think so. Run along boy, you should be in school.”

 

Keith left the store empty-handed, feeling like a chastened little kid.

 

Okay so guns were out.

 

Something shiny caught his eye in the window of a pawnshop across the alley. He tilted his head thoughtfully.

 

“That could work,” he mumbled to himself with a decisive nod. 

 

 

* * *

 

Keith made short work of the Garrison medics, _again_ , and approached the gurney with his heart in his throat.

 

Just as he remembered, Shiro lay unnaturally still, the slash across the bridge of his nose shocking in its brutality. The white tuft of hair contrasted starkly with the rest of Shiro’s black buzz cut. 

 

“The dream _was_ real…” Keith murmured solemnly, staring down at Shiro’s slack face.

 

He cut Shiro lose and pulled him up, which meant that-

 

“Nope. _No_. Nononono. No you don’t. _I’m_ saving Shiro.” 

 

There were the others, exactly on time. It took Keith off guard just how _relieved_ he was that they were _alive_.

 

Lance marched over and shoved himself under Shiro’s other arm, while Hunk and Pidge stood awkwardly in the doorway.

 

Even though he knew they were going to show up, he couldn’t help but stare gormlessly.

 

“So you _have_ grown taller, it _wasn’t_ just a dream,” Keith muttered stupidly.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Lance, squinting at him.

 

“You don’t remember this? This hasn’t happened to you before? Any of you?” he had to check that he wasn’t the only one experiencing déjà vu on steroids.

 

Lance continued squinting at him, Hunk shifted his weight uneasily, eyebrows contorted in confusion, and Pidge adjusted her glasses to peer at him like he was a strange specimen under a microscope.

 

So that was a resounding no. Disappointment settled in Keith’s gut, but he wasn’t surprised.

 

“Never mind,” he sighed, “We need to leave. _Now_.”

 

He set a fast pace out of the Garrison’s makeshift med-unit.

 

“Hey! Slow down!” groused Lance, tripping to keep up.

 

“Hang on a minute, what did you mean? Why would we remember this?” asked Pidge, jogging to keep up with their longer faster strides.

 

“I’ll explain once we’re out of here.” _If we get out of here…_

“What, you can’t multi-task? Walking and talking at the same time _is_ a thing you know,” snapped Lance.

 

“Shut up, we need to go faster,” retorted Keith.

 

He all but forced Lance to run in his haste to get Shiro to his bike.

 

Lance continued mumbling at him under his breath but Keith couldn’t parse the words. From the tone he could tell it was disparaging, but he was too hyper-focused. 

 

He felt the moment approach when the creature would step out of the shadows and make its presence known.

 

Time seemed to slow down, and Keith held his breath, knowing that any second the creature would appear, and that they needed to be as close as possible to his bike when it happened.

 

They passed the spot where he had seen Shiro and Lance die, and nothing happened. Keith allowed himself to breathe a little, maybe this time there would be no monster? 

 

They arrived at the bike and still the monster hadn’t appeared.

 

Keith should have felt relieved, but his whole body felt like a bow string that had been drawn too tight.

 

His instincts were telling him that they weren’t safe, something was coming, and the longer it took to arrive the more Keith felt like he was going to _snap._  

 

“Uh, do you mind if we catch a ride with you?” asked Hunk. Before Keith could formulate a response, Pidge cut in.

 

“What the heck is that!” she yelled, pointing at something in the distance.

 

It was the monster...  Except it wasn’t.

 

It was a _different_ monster, a bit smaller than the one that had killed them before. Its body looked similar, a twisting writhing mess of vines, but it didn’t glow blue. It was sniffing around the entrance of the Garrison med-unit, the deadly vines that made up its body billowing softly as if it were floating under water. 

 

“Maybe its friendly?” suggested Lance.

 

“It _isn’t_ friendly,” snapped Keith.

 

“Sheesh, no need to bite my head off.”

 

The creature’s maw gaped open and that familiar awful cry filled the air.

 

Keith shoved Shiro at Lance before grabbing the boy roughly by the shoulder. He stared into Lance’s shocked blue eyes, trying to impress the seriousness of what he was going to say.

 

“If things go South, get them all back to the Garrison.”

 

Lance spluttered, staggering back under Shiro’s dead-weight.

 

“ _What?!_ What do you mean if things go South? You want _me_ to drive his thing?”

 

“You’re a pilot aren’t you? Figure it out!”

 

Keith withdrew his shiny purchase from the pawn shop - a katana with a worn handle and a wicked sharp blade.

 

He’d messed around with it while he’d been waiting for Shiro to show up and the weight felt right in his hands. 

 

“But I’ve never even- Hang on, is that a _sword?_ _What are you doing!?_ Hey!”

 

Keith turned away and starting running to meet the monster head on.

 

“What is he doing?” “Why is he running _at_ it?!” cried Pidge and Hunk simultaneously. 

 

He ignored their shouts of protest.

 

This time he would kill it. He wouldn’t let it hurt anyone else. 

 

He knew the moment it became cognizant of his presence because the softly undulating vines suddenly froze.

 

In a whip quick movement, it turned and started barrelling towards him, like something out of a nightmare.

 

They clashed in a flurry of vines and screeching metal.

 

It wasn’t a surprise when a coiled limb lashed out at him and suddenly split into five deadly vines, each aiming to stab.

 

He turned sharply, pivoting to neatly side-step the blow, before slicing down decisively.

 

The katana sliced through flesh like a hot knife through butter, severing off the five offending appendages.

 

The creature recoiled with an unholy shriek, splattering fluorescent blue liquid all over the ground as it writhed away from him in pain.

 

He stalked it, sensing weakness and going on the offensive.

 

For such a large ungainly looking creature, it sure could move. He managed to land a few glancing blows, blows that nicked and caused thin trails of fluorescent blue blood to drip, but no solid hits.

 

The creature moved like it was make of water, like an octopus on land. It was very difficult to pin down.

 

At the very edge of his concentration he could dully hear his ex-classmates screaming at him, but dodging vines and lashing out with his new sword was taking everything he had. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. 

 

Finally, he managed to stab the creature clean through the head. It dropped to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut the moment he pierced a spot just behind the eyes.

 

Suddenly Lance’s screaming voice stood out louder than the rest, increasing in volume by the second.

 

A blur crashed into him bodily, knocking him to the ground.

 

“What was that fo-” the words died on his lips.

 

Lance was standing where Keith had been moments earlier, and there was a black vine sticking out of his chest.

 

Behind him there was a second monster that Keith hadn’t noticed.

 

The vine withdrew and Keith could only watch in horror as Lance fell to his knees. Blood poured down his chest, poured out of his mouth. It soaked into the dry desert floor. It was so _red._

 

Their eyes locked. One corner of Lance’s mouth twitched upwards into a sad semblance of a smile, and then his blue blue eyes rolled into the back of his head. He slumped forward limply, and lay still still  _still._

 

There was a buzzing in Keith’s brain, the presence was pounding against the inside of his skull.

 

“L-Lance,” he choked out, too shocked to move.  

 

The monster turned its attention to him.

 

The last thing he felt was a sharp ripping pain against his throat, and then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 2**

 

Keith jerked into consciousness, hands reaching up automatically to grope at his neck. His fingers met nothing but smooth unblemished skin, but it still took some minutes for his heart rate to slow down.

 

He stared at the tiny green lizard creeping across the rafters, and tried not to think too hard about Lance Álvarez’s blue blue eyes and still still body. If he did, he might do something stupid like tear his own hair out or start bawling.

 

Lance didn’t even know him, _why_ had he _sacrificed_ himself like that? Then he had the gall to smile at Keith as if he wasn’t bleeding out through a dirty great big hole in his chest. A wound that was _Keith’s_ fault to start with.

 

The very first time they had interacted Lance was so hostile towards him, so _belligerent_.

 

Why did he push Keith out of the way like that?

 

Keith decided abruptly that it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

 

He had to do better. The presence in his mind agreed with a disgruntled mental poke.

 

This time he skipped breakfast and fixed his bike before he left.

 

* * *

 

“…How old are you kid?”

 

Keith decided to give guns another go.

 

“Eighteen.”

 

“… and what’d you say you needed this for?”

 

“I didn’t, but I’m planning on using it for hunting. Rabbits,” he tried to sound casual, conversational, _friendly._  

 

Judging by the look on the shopkeeper’s face he hadn’t succeeded.

 

“You wanna hunt rabbits with _this_?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“This is a semi-automatic Remington bull-action assault rifle!” The shopkeeper’s eyes were practically bulging. He stared at Keith like the string of words he’d just spouted were supposed to mean something to him.  

 

“…So?”

 

“ _So_ -” he shopkeeper huffed, “-if you shoot a rabbit with one of these there won’t be much rabbit left, you’ll completely _tear it apart_.”

 

Keith wanted to groan in frustration.

 

“Well this is the gun I want,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. The shopkeeper’s eyes flashed dangerously.

 

“You better check your attitude boy. If you ain’t got no respect, I ain’t gonna sell you a _nothing_.”

 

“Alright alright-” said Keith, making a placating gesture with his hands, “Could I buy this one _please?_ ” he ground out.

 

“No.” Keith’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

 

What was _wrong_ with this guy!? This was probably why his shop was so shabby, he kept stopping customers from buying things.

 

“Why not!?”

 

“Because I say so. Run along boy.”

 

Keith stormed off and bought the damn Katana from the pawn shop.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t you dare move from this spot,” he commanded Lance, squeezing his shoulder in a white-knuckled grip. Lance staggered back under Shiro’s dead weight.

 

“Dude, what’s your problem!?” he cried.

 

“I _mean_ it! _Stay here_!”

 

Keith withdrew the katana.

 

He caught the beginning of a muttered tirade, “Thinks he’s _so cool_ with his _stupid_ mullet and that _stupid_ jacket-” and then he was sprinting away just as Pidge exclaimed “ _What the heck is that?!”_

 

He remembered the moves the first monster would make, he remembered which angle to push the katana in to kill.

 

The second one didn’t catch him off guard, Lance didn’t have to come running to push him out of the way. He was holding his own.

 

What _did_ catch him off guard was a third monster appearing right above the others, high on the rocky outcrop he’d hidden his bike behind. They didn’t see it. _They didn’t see it._ They were too busy staring at _him._

 

In a panicked frenzy, Keith tried to thrust the katana into the neck of the monster he was fighting. It was sloppy and careless.

 

The monster turned at the last moment and Keith’s sword went into its mouth and through the top of his head, until his whole arm was in its mouth up to his bicep. 

 

He missed the spot - the death spot - and the monster bit down.

 

He screamed in agony as it whipped its head, jerking him around like a ragdoll, teeth sinking into his flesh until it felt like they were scraping his bone.  

 

It was torture, but somehow he managed to wretch his arm so the blade of the katana slid back just enough to hit the kill spot.

 

He monster collapsed instantly, and Keith fell with it, arm still locked between its teeth.

 

He looked up and saw that Lance was disobeying him, sprinting towards him. Pidge and Hunk were cradling Shiro between them, and the monster, still unnoticed by everyone but him, looked as if it was preparing to pounce. 

 

“No! Stop! Behind you!” he screamed, desperately trying to pull his arm free, barely cognizant of the way he was forcing the sharp teeth to tear at his own delicate flesh.

 

It was no use, Pidge and Hunk didn’t have time to see it coming.

 

The monster leapt down, crushing them and his hover-bike under its weight. Their screams were cut short by cruel, precise stabs.

 

Lance halted, turning away from Keith, towards the carnage. He took a shaky step back towards the others, but it was too late. They were already gone.

 

“Lance! _RUN!_ YOU NEED TO RUN!” Keith roared, finally accepting that he wasn’t going to be able to just yank his arm free and instead trying to pry open the jaw of the creature he was pinned under. It was stubbornly locked closed and he couldn’t make it budge.

 

Lance’s attention snapped back to him, and he stopped moving towards Pidge, Hunk and Shiro.

 

The look on Lance's face... it was equal parts shock and anguish. It was a look that had no business being on his face _ever_.

 

His eyes focused on Keith, pinned and defenseless, and the shock shifted to determination.

 

He continued running to Keith, and skidded to his knees beside him.

 

“ _La reputisima madre que me parió_ ,” Lance exclaimed faintly upon seeing the mess that was Keith’s arm; he’d made it much worse through his clumsy attempts to jerk free. His blood was leaking out of the dead monster’s mouth grotesquely.

 

“Just l-leave me, I’m s- _stuck_ ,” grunted Keith, grimacing against the pain. He was going to die. If not from the monster, then from blood loss. He already felt lightheaded, those sharp teeth had definitely severed something important.

 

“ _No_ ,” snapped Lance vehemently, “I’ll lift the jaw then you move got it?” he commanded, getting to his feet and pushing up the sleeves of his jacket. 

 

“You need to go! There isn’t time-” Lance ignored him.

 

“On three. One, two- _”_

The remaining live monster screeched and started towards them, apparently satisfied that Pidge, Hunk and Shiro were dead enough.

_“Three_!”

 

Lance deadlifted the top of the monster’s head, its jaw crunching with the sickening sound of grinding bone.

 

With a pained whine, Keith used his good arm to wrench his mangled arm free. His _very_ mangled, _very_ bloody arm. As soon as he was clear Lance let the thing’s mouth drop shut.

 

“Please, _please_ go-” Keith begged. The monster was getting closer. Lance crouched beside Keith and dragged him to his feet with a firm grip on his good arm, and an arm around his waist.

 

“No. We’re _both_ going-”

 

The monster cut him off with an angry shriek and started barrelling towards them in earnest. Perhaps it realised that Keith wasn’t trapped any more.

 

“I can’t run! I’ll s-slow you down! I don’t- I don’t want to watch you d-die, just _go_ ,” his head was swimming, making his brain fuzzy and his speech slurred.  

 

“ _Mierda_. Your sword is still stuck in this one’s head,” muttered Lance, completely ignoring what Keith said.

 

“Hang on-” he groped at Keith’s hip, “-What’s _this?_ ” he came away with Keith’s dagger.

 

“Better than nothing,” he quipped, sending Keith a shaky smile. 

 

“ _Don’t you dare!_ ” his voice came out breathy and weak rather than scathing and angry like he wanted.

 

Lance dropped his hand from Keith’s arm and took a deliberate step in front of him. Keith was forcibly reminded of the first time this had happened, when he had stepped in front of Lance and Shiro. 

 

Lance wasn’t fast enough to dodge the limb that split into five deadly vines, just like Keith wasn’t fast enough the first time.

 

He was forced to watch, _powerless_ , as it stabbed Lance, lifted him bodily, and tossed him away like he was garbage.

 

Keith was almost glad when the monster stomped down on his head, snuffing out his life like a candle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 3**

 

Keith woke up with a pained groan.

 

“Why the hell did he do that?” he remarked to the tiny green lizard creeping across the rafters above his head.

 

Why didn’t Lance just listen to him and _run_?

 

The foreign presence poked persistently at his mind.

 

_Find me. Find me._

 

Keith brushed it aside.

 

“This time I’ll make sure. This time they’ll _live_.”

 

* * *

 

This time Keith decided to try a different tack with the gun-store owner. He recited the words he’d practised on the ride over, trying to muster all the (scant) charm and ease he possessed.

 

“Hi, I need a gun to go rabbit hunting. What would you recommend?”

 

Seeing the shopkeeper’s smile was bizarrely unsettling, but Keith actually left the store with a gun this time.

 

* * *

 

“Dude, that’s a freaking _air rifle_! You could shoot _me_ point blank with that thing and it’d barely leave a bruise!” screamed Lance. He didn’t say _‘you stupid idiot!_ ’ but he may as well have. Keith could tell from his tone that that was what he meant.  

 

He let the first monster kill him so he didn’t have to watch the others die first.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 4**

Keith woke up _fuming_.

 

“An air rifle. He sold me a fucking _air rifle_ ,” Keith ranted to the tiny green lizard, “I should have known when he sold me fucking _pellets_ instead of _bullets_.”

 

* * *

 

Keith didn’t even bother going into the gun store _at all_ this time.

 

He was worried he wouldn’t be able to control his temper if he laid eyes on that insufferable shopkeeper, he’d probably get arrested for wringing the guy’s neck. 

 

He’d make do with the katana.

 

He liked blades better than guns anyway.

 

* * *

 

He stayed back with the others to defend them instead of engaging straight away, but he couldn’t defend everyone against three of them.  

 

They were picked off one by one.

 

They got Hunk first when he threw himself in the way of a swipe meant for Shiro, and then Lance and Pidge reacted emotionally, throwing themselves after Hunk to pull him back even though it was obvious that he was beyond help.

 

Keith was left standing over Shiro’s unconscious body, backed up against the rocky outcrop, three monsters closing in on him.

 

Hunk, Pidge and Lance’s broken, bloody bodies taunted him, provoking him to fight with a bloodthirstiness he’d seldom had to call upon. He fought with an intensity, a _viciousness_ , that quite frankly _frightened_ him.

 

It took all three monsters, working in tandem, to take him down.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 10**

“I don’t want to watch them die again,” he confided to the tiny green lizard.

 

His eyes stung. He stubbornly told himself it was just dust or sunlight.

 

* * *

Keith tried to kill the first two monsters quickly. He avoided getting his arm bitten off, but he didn’t get back to the others fast enough to stop them from being crushed.

 

He allowed the last monster to finished him off.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 15**

“How old are you kid?”

 

“Eighteen.”

 

“What do you need a hand gun for?”

 

“Self-defence.”

 

“Self-defence from what?”

 

“Coyotes.”

 

“Well if it’s pest control you’re after, you should be buying _this_ bad boy.”

 

The shopkeeper pulled out a familiar air rifle, and slapped on the countertop with a flourish.

 

“Isn’t she a beauty?”

 

Keith felt the corner of his eye twitch.

 

He turned on this heel and left without a word, not trusting himself to speak.

 

* * *

 

He managed to defeat the first two monsters much more quickly. The monsters did not vary their attacks, it was just a matter of remembering where to step and what angle to stab.

 

It was like learning choreography for a deadly dance, but he _still_ wasn’t fast enough for the third.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 20**

 

 _Still_ wasn’t fast enough.

_Find me_ insisted the presence in his mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 25**

He handed his dagger over to Lance and warned them about the creature that was going to attack.

 

“You only need to hold it off for a minute,” he explained.

 

Lance had died protecting the others by the time Keith sprinted back.

 

He let the monster kill him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 30**

He warned them again, but this time handed the dagger over to Pidge. (After all, she’d managed to draw blood the first time this had happened.)

 

“Why’d you give _him_ the knife?” Lance whined.

 

Huh. All this time Keith had assumed Pidge was a _girl._ A very androgynous girl.

 

Whoops. 

 

He made a mental note to use the correct pronouns going forward.

 

Somehow, Lance still ended up dead. Self-sacrificing fucker.

 

Keith let the monster kill him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 35**

 

Hunk blanched when Keith handed him the knife.

 

“I know I’m big, but violence and fighting aren’t really my jam,” he squeaked.

 

Hunk was right.

 

Lance somehow _still_ ended up dead, and again Keith allowed the monster to kill him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Reset 40**

 

“ _Stay here_ ,” Keith barked.

 

Maybe if they stayed inside the Garrison structure, they’d be okay. Maybe he’d be able to protect them, to keep them alive.

 

“Who died and made _you_ the boss,” retorted Lance, supporting Shiro.

 

“Yeah, shouldn’t we get out of here before the Garrison personnel realise the explosion was just a distraction?” chimed in Hunk.

 

“Just trust me, okay? Let me made sure the coast is clear, stay here until I say.”

 

He didn’t wait for them to answer, withdrawing the katana marching towards the door.

 

“ _Woah!_ Is that a katana?” Keith heard Pidge exclaim, and then the automatic doors swished shut behind him.

 

He moved to the second set of doors and they swished open, giving him a view of the rocky outcrop where his bike was stashed, and beyond that the sprawling desert bathed in moonlight. He positioned himself in the doorway, katana raised, muscles tense.

 

He heard another swish as the others followed him into the tight corridor between the two entrances.

 

“Why are you being so weird? We need to get on your bike and _blow this popsicle stand!_ ” hissed Lance, seething. He and Hunk cradled Shiro between them, Pidge bringing up the rear.

 

“C’mon guys, we don’t have to listen to him let’s just leave-” continued Lance.

 

“No. _Wait_ ,” Keith insisted, flinging out an arm to prevent them from ducking around him. He inadvertently clipped Lance’s shoulder very _very_ lightly, and the boy responded by glaring at him like he was disgusting pond scum.

 

Keith was certain he would have thrown a fit and made a big show of wiping off his jacket if his arms weren’t full of unconscious Shiro.  

 

“Listen here mullet-head, just because _you_ got yourself kicked out of the Garrison doesn’t mean that-” Lance’s tirade was cut off by the shriek of the first monster.

 

The indignant look on his face melted right off, and Hunk let out a high-pitched squawk of terror.

 

In the tense silence that followed they heard it; a steady _thump thump thump_ of heavy footfalls _just_ outside. Far too heavy to be human.

 

“What is it?” whispered Pidge fearfully.

 

“Something that wants to kill us. _Stay here_ ,” ordered Keith sternly, and then he stepped outside, letting the door swish shut on the stunned faces behind him.

 

He engaged the first monster immediately, and the fight followed the same cadence as every time they fought.

 

He ducked and weaved, almost entirely from memory, before stabbing the monster clean through the head, hitting the kill spot expertly when the earliest opening arose.

 

He pivoted sharply to dodge the surprise attack from the second monster that he knew was coming, and slashed through its outstretched limb, eliciting a yowl of rage. 

 

He was about to deliver the final blow when the was a huge crash.

 

His focus wavered for a split second, eyes darting towards the Garrison med-unit. The third monster was on the roof. No, it was _destroying_ roof.

 

Suddenly it disappeared from view, dropping into the building through the hole it had made, and then the screaming started.

 

Keith immediately tried to run back to them, he’d do _anything_ to avoid having to hear them scream like that again, but then the monster he was fighting took advantage of his lapse in concentration, stabbing him clean through the shoulder and _twisting,_ pulling him back away from the door forcibly.

 

The katana was knocked out of his grip.

 

It _hurt_ , but he was used to pain by now, used to forcing his body to move and work through it. Having to hear the screams coming from inside the med-unit somehow hurt him more.

 

It sounded like they were in agony, and he _couldn’t take it._

 

Gritting his teeth, Keith reached for his dagger, pulling it out and swiftly slicing off the offending vine.

 

He threw the dagger up in a practiced motion, flipping it and catching it so he could clutch the handle in a stabbing grip, and then he drove the blade down into the top of the monster’s head.

 

Before the body even hit the ground, Keith brutally yanked out the piece of vine lodged in his shoulder, grunting in pain.

 

He tossed it aside and ran for the med-unit door, blood dripping off the tips of his fingers.

 

He dully registered that the screaming had stopped, barely pausing to allow the doors to swish open.

 

The sight that met his eyes would be burned into his brain forever.

 

The room was _bathed_ in blood, splattering the walls, painting the floor. Everyone had been slaughtered, even the unconscious Garrison medics.

 

The bodies were mangled beyond recognition. Keith felt bile rising in his throat.

 

At the centre of the carnage stood the third monster, crushing a body between its jaws.

 

“P-Pidge,” Keith gasped. He could only tell it was him because of the relative size of the body.

 

 The monster let him roll out its mouth, and Pidge fell. He landed with a sick wet splat.

 

It stepped over him, towards Keith.

 

Keith let his dagger fall from between his limp fingers, and then he held still so the monster could slaughter him too. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Reset 44**

Something had to give. He couldn’t go on like this.

 

“I have to actually think about this, and come up with a plan,” he said to the small green lizard glumly. Throwing himself at the problem over and over wasn’t really working.

 

“I can kill the first two with my eyes closed now, I know what they’re going to do but I’m never fast enough to kill the third one and Lance always manages to get himself killed no matter what I do if I try and take on all three together… So I need a long range weapon, but that fucking shopkeeper won’t sell me a proper gun.”

 

 _Find me find me find me_ insisted the foreign presence.

 

“Shh, I’m thinking. What else, apart from a gun, could I use to kill the third one at a distance?”

 

Keith sat up quickly. He had an idea.

 

* * *

He spent a huge chuck of the day rewiring one of the explosives to be detonated remotely.

 

He rigged it up on top of the rocky outcrop in the exact spot where the third creature would eventually appear.

 

Unfortunately, when he pressed the button, nothing happened. 

 

He watched them be slaughtered, and then he calmly watched his own death approach and allowed it to happen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Reset 46**

There was still something wrong with the wiring on the bomb, the results were the same.

 

Everyone dead.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 48**

 

The bomb detonated far too late, delayed until after the monster had already leaped down.

 

Everyone died. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Reset 50**

 

Finally, after triple checking and rewiring until his fingers _bled_ , the bomb _worked_.

 

When he ran back to the others after killing the first two monsters, he could hardly believe they were all still alive.

 

Pidge, Hunk and Lance were staring at him with varying shades of awe and shock, and all he could do was grin back joyously because they were _alive._ It felt unnatural, stretching muscles in his face that he hadn’t been exercised in a long long time. 

 

“What the cheese was that?” questioned Hunk, breaking the silence.

 

“What was what?” questioned Keith, sheathing his katana. He wiped his sweaty brow roughly with the back of his hand and flicked his hair out of his face.

 

“Are you kidding me!? _‘What was what?’_ ” Lance scoffed, doing a terrible impression of Keith, pretending to flick imaginary hair out of his face obnoxiously, “False modesty _isn’t_ cute Keith!” he continued.

 

“Dude, you were like a _Jedi_ or something!” cried Hunk, waving his arms emphatically.

 

“It was like you knew what they were going to do before they did it!” chimed in Pidge.

 

He _did_ know what they were going to do before they did it. He didn’t think they’d believe him if he said that though, so he just chuckled in the face of their incredulity and shrugged lazily. 

 

Lance seemed take personal offense to this action because he glowered at Keith so hard that it was difficult for Keith not to just laugh in his face outright.

 

Lance could glower at him all he wanted and it wouldn’t diminish Keith’s happiness one iota because they were alive alive _alive_.

 

“So, what exactly was that thing that attacked us?” asked Hunk, wringing his hands nervously.

 

As one their eyes darted to the monster that had been blown up. The explosion had thrown it off the rocky outcrop and luckily it had landed beside them rather than crushing anyone.

 

Pidge was the closest, it’s wrecked body was splayed out next to him, oozing fluorescent blue liquid and smoldering faintly. Pidge crouched down right by its head and poked it in the face, his eyes brimming with curiosity behind his glasses.  

 

“These vine-y appendages are something else-” he lifted one limp vine to his eye level so he could examine it closely, “-Really flexible so clearly there isn’t any bone or cartilage, maybe they use hydrostatic pressure to maintain their structural integrity? Sort of like how plants use turgor pressure to keep their stems stiff, except obviously these guy have this wacky blue mystery liquid instead of water. We should take a sample so I can-” 

 

Suddenly the vine twitched, and wrapped itself around his wrist.

 

Pidge yelped, Hunk and Lance screamed, and Keith sprang into action, hideous fear exploding through his body.

 

No no no _no!_ He hadn’t come this far to lose one of them now!

 

He pulled out his dagger and sprinted for Pidge as the creature weakly lifted its head and bared its teeth at him, growling and using its grip on his wrist to drag him closer to those sharp gnashing teeth.

 

Keith leapt in front of Pidge and thrust his dagger through the top of the monster’s head, twisting viciously to make sure he hit the kill spot.

 

It seized once, letting out a furious screech, before going limp.

 

The vine on Pidge’s wrist fell away and he tumbled over backwards, scrambling to put distance between himself and the creature.

 

Keith pulled out his dagger and grimaced at the viscous blue liquid that now coated it.

 

_Gross._

 

He wiped off as much as he could on the creature before shoving it back in its scabbard on his belt.

 

“Pidge! Are you okay?” Hunk rushed over to help him stand.

 

“Y-yeah,” stuttered Pidge, clutching his wrist to his chest protectively, “Thanks Keith.”

 

That was a close call. As the adrenaline drained out of his veins, Keith found himself awash with utter _relief_. It was dizzying. Pidge was okay. He hadn’t failed. Everything was fine.

 

He couldn’t hold back the giddy smile that spread across his face if he tried.

 

“We should get out of here,” he said, making his way back over to Lance to help distribute Shiro’s weight between them, “So are you guys coming with me or…?”

 

Lance eyed him suspiciously over Shiro’s head, while Pidge and Hunk exchanged glances.

 

“Yes,” Pidge and Hunk chorused, nodding enthusiastically.  

 

They rushed over and clamber up into the bike, and reached out to help manoeuver a still-unconscious Shiro until he was settled securely.

 

Keith climbed into the driver’s seat once he was satisfied that Shiro wouldn’t fall off.

 

“Why’re you so smiley mullet-head?” grumbled Lance distrustfully, climbing onto the bike nonetheless.

 

Keith snorted in amusement.

 

“What’s so funny!?” he demanded.

 

What Keith found funny was the fact that Lance had _literally_ died half a dozen times trying to save his life, and now he was posturing. Keith decided not to tell him that.

 

“I’m just really happy we’re all alive,” Keith replied.

 

“Uh, guys, can you feel that?” called Hunk hesitantly.

 

They all fell silent.

 

The ground was trembling faintly. They all flinched when they heard a distant roar.

 

“Look, what’s that?” Lance pointed to a spot in the very far distance. It looked like a small sandstorm was brewing.

 

Pidge scrambled to pull a pair of binoculars out of his backpack and scanned the horizon. For a moment he was silent, turning the focus knob carefully.

 

“Well, do you see anything?” asked Lance impatiently.

 

Pidge gasped, and the colour drained from his face.

 

They heard another roar, except this time is was _louder_ , and Keith could recognise it for what it was now. It was the sound of innumerable monsters screeching in tandem.

 

Suddenly he didn’t need the binoculars to see the problem. A writhing line of black appeared on the horizon; _monsters_. Hundreds, maybe even _thousands_ of them. They were all _swarming_ towards their positon, blanketing the landscape as they raged nearer, throwing up sand and dust as they moved.

 

Keith realised with dawning horror that the three monsters he’d been struggling to kill for _so long_ were just a tiny fraction of a larger whole. His vision narrowed until all he could see was that terrible smudge of black, blossoming across the skyline. His hands started to shake.

 

_No no no no no no._

What could he do in the face of an _army_ of monsters? Was he doomed to die and watch everyone around him die over and over indefinitely?

 

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t _stand_ it. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, _he couldn’t_ -

 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him back to himself.

 

“Keith?!” it sounded like it wasn’t the first time his name had been called. Lance shook him.

 

“Keith, _breathe_ , snap out of it!”

 

He obeyed automatically, gasping for breath.

 

“What are we going to do?” Pidge’s voice trembled.

 

Keith shrugged Lance’s hand off.

 

_Just keep going. Don’t think, just act._

 

“Hold on, I’m getting us out of here-”

 

“Wait! What about the Garrison medics you knocked out!?” interrupted Hunk, “W-we can’t just leave them!” 

 

 _Shit._ He’d forgotten all about them… Hunk was right. They couldn’t leave them to be killed.

 

He rammed the bike into gear and flew them over to the med-unit.

 

The black on the horizon surged ever nearer as he Hunk and Lance scrambled off the bike and rushed inside. Pidge stayed behind, clutching Shiro’s prone form to his chest awkwardly. 

 

They were all still unconscious in the same spots where Keith had dropped them.

 

Hunk lifted one medic onto his shoulders in a fireman-carry as if the guy were a child and not a fully grown man.

 

Keith gripped another under the shoulders, and Lance took his legs.

 

“Just how hard did you hit these guys?” griped Lance.

 

“I wouldn’t have hit them if they didn’t _drug_ Shiro,” Keith snapped back.  

 

Hunk went back in for the third guy, while Keith and Lance tried to make everyone fit. They slid two of the guys behind Pidge, and when Hunk came back with the third, they lay him over the console in front of him and Shiro.

 

“Get on behind so you can hold onto them and make sure they don’t fall off,” Keith ordered Hunk.

 

The bike dipped precariously low to the ground underneath all that weight.

 

“I’ll be a squeeze, but we can both fit in the driver’s seat,” he said to Lance.

 

Keith was right, they _did_ both fit and it _was_ a tight squeeze; Lance was completely pressed up against his back. The problem was that they were too heavy.

 

The engine groaned in protest and the bottom of the bike scraped along the ground when Keith tested the ignition.

 

It was no use.

 

“Lance, you drive,” Keith ordered, vacating his seat. With his weight removed, the bike was able to bob up enough to allow smooth motion once more. 

 

He accepted the inevitability of his death calmly, he was going to have to reset again. The others however didn’t need to go down with him. He _really_ didn’t want to watch them die again. 

 

“W-what do you mean?!” stuttered Hunk.

 

“Too much weight. Hurry up, you need to go _now_. It looks like they’re coming from the direction of the Garrison so you need to go into the desert-”

 

“What! _No!_ Get your ass back on this bike Kogane, _this instant_! I refuse! I’ve never driven one of these before-” Lance sounded panicked, his eyes were wild.

 

“You’re a pilot aren’t you? Figure it out,” his words came out a lot fonder than he intended. Much softer than the first time he said it. 

 

He withdrew the katana. The hoard was close enough that he could make out individuals now. The ground was well and truly shaking, and the shrieks were getting louder.

 

“But-but what about you?” called Pidge, sounding impossibly young.

 

“I’ll hold ‘em off,” Keith turned away from them to do just that. 

 

“But Keith, there’s _hundreds_ of them-” reasoned Hunk.

 

“No, _we won’t_ leave you here by yourself!” insisted Lance. He slid off the bike and grabbed Keith’s wrist tightly.

 

“I’m not giving you a choice. Get on my bike, and get these guys out of here. _Now_ ,” growled Keith, infusing his voice with as much authority as he could muster. 

 

“If we leave you here you’ll die!” shouted Lance hysterically.

 

“I’m surprised you care. Aren’t I your _‘rival’_?” Keith questioned, genuinely curious. He couldn’t figure Lance out, one day the guy was verbally eviscerating him, ripping into him for everything from his hair to his jacket, the next he was taking a stab wound in the chest for him.

 

Lance yanked on his arm, forcing him to turn and at look at him.

 

Keith was astonished to see that there were tears in his eyes. He glanced up and saw that Pidge and Hunk were teary too.

 

For _him_. He didn’t know how to feel about that.   

 

“How can you say that? Of course I care, I don’t want you to _die_ ,” it was the most serious thing he had ever heard Lance say.

 

“Look, everything is going to be fine. I’ll be okay, I’ve got a plan. Just… _please_. _Go_.”

 

Lance stared at him for a moment, the look on his face unreadable to Keith, and then he yanked him in and threw his arms around his shoulders.  

 

Keith, caught off guard and off balance, fell into the embrace with a soft ‘ _oof._ ’ He froze in shock. Keith couldn’t actually remember the last time someone had _hugged_ him. Probably Shiro, before he left for Kerberos.

 

He felt Lance sigh deeply.

 

“You always gotta one-up me you mulleted motherfucker,” he murmured with no real heat. 

 

With that, he let go and climbed back onto the bike.

 

He shot Keith a two-fingered salute, eyes impossibly blue and wet, and then he punched the gas.

 

Hunk and Pidge stared back at him as they receded into the distance, their features twisted into identical expressions of muted horror, tears splashing down their cheeks. 

 

Keith’s eyes _burned_ , worse than ever, but he forced himself turn around. 

 

The hoard reached him a minute later, and death came quickly, if not painlessly, after that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This un-betaed by anyone but myself so sorry about any typos!
> 
> “La reputisima madre que me parió,” is my favorite Spanish swear, it doesn't translate well into English but it basically means "The very bitch mother who gave birth to me." Its evocative in Spanish, trust me haha
> 
> "Mierda" means shit.
> 
> I am completely ignorant about real life guns, I totally made up all that gun jargon so sorry if I got it horribly wrong!
> 
> The ancient cartoon Keith was thinking about was Looney Tunes where Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny are arguing about whether its rabbit season or duck season. I think the episode is actually called Rabbit Season, Duck Season lol
> 
> The part where Keith flips his knife during reset 40? He does this in his fight against the first Galra in the Blade of Mamora episode so imagine that cause it looks cool :)
> 
> So yeah! Please tell me what you thought! I was trying to be funny with the gun store owner so hopefully that worked, and I'm hoping the resetting wasn't confusing and flowed okay?? (fingers crossed lol)
> 
> You can come say hi to me on tumblr if you want, although I'm not terribly exciting haha 
> 
> edited 5/10/17 --> I decided to change Hunk and Lance's surnames to reflect their cannon heritage (Cuban and Samoan) So Lance is Lance Álvarez, and Hunk is Hunk Savea fyi
> 
> :)


	3. Reset 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith tries to warn the Garrison. Unfortunately, the Garrison thinks he's lost it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Lance and Hunk's surnames from McClain and Garrett to Álvarez and Savea respectively to reflect their cannon heritage fyi :)

**Reset 51**

Keith woke up shaking, in a cold sweat.

He already knew he was fine, but he couldn’t help but run his palms over his body to double check. Sure enough, just like every other time, he was whole and unharmed.

That last death had been… one of the worst.

He’d been _completely_ torn apart...

He thought for sure that he had finally done it, that the nightmare had finally ended with the death of those three monsters. Now all he could see behind his eyelids were tears slipping down Lance’s cheeks, and the horrified looks on Hunk and Pidge’s faces…

Keith pressed the heel of his palms over his eyes firmly and willed away and hysteria he could feel bubbling up his throat. If he gave into it, he knew he’d become a sobbing mess and then he’d be in no state to save anyone.

“Don’t cry Keith. Don’t even think about. If you start you’ll never stop,” he ordered himself.  

With a shudder, he forcibly pushed thoughts of the reset away. He needed to focus on figuring out what to do next.

What to do next… it came to him like a strike of lightening.

“I have to go back to the Garrison,” Keith breathed to the tiny green lizard.

He really didn’t want to. They lied about Shiro, they kicked him out when he called them on it, and when Shiro managed to get back to them on his own, they drugged him and restrained him, like he was an enemy. A threat. 

But Keith had seen the hoard of monsters that was coming for them. The situation was bigger than him, bigger than his grudge. The Garrison had the firepower and the manpower to fight back. Keith didn’t. It was as simple as that.

“How am I going to convince them to _listen_ to me?” the tiny green lizard didn’t offer any suggestions.

Whatever, he’d show up and play it by ear. He’d find a way to _make_ them listen. He _had_ to.

 _Find me find me fine me,_ nudged the foreign presence insistently.

Keith sighed.

_I’m sorry, not yet._

 

* * *

 

He didn’t anticipate not being let into the Garrison. He stood out in his civilian clothes and a pair of guards picked him up as he approached the entrance. 

“State your business.”

“Ex-student here to see Director Iverson.”

“Name?”

“Kogane. _Keith_ Kogane.”

Keith crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. It was just past noon and there were hours and hours left until Shiro arrived, but who knew how long it would take to mobilise the Garrison’s defences?

One of the guards tapped something into a tablet and squinted at the screen for a moment, before looking back up at Keith’s face.

“Sorry, there’s a standing trespassing order against you. We have to ask you to leave-”

“ _What?!”_

“Come along son-”

One of the guards gripped his upper arm tightly, applying enough force that Keith had no choice but to turn around and start moving back the way he came. He was so surprised that he went along with it for a few steps before coming back to his senses.

“ _Wait!”_ he cried, digging in his heels, “I have some very important information I need to tell him-”

“You’re going to need to contact him some other way then. First to get the trespassing notice lifted, and then to make an appointment-”

 “You don’t understand; there isn’t time I need to speak to him today, _now_ ,” Keith protested.

“Like I said, you’re going to have to find another way to contact him and set up a meeting,” repeated the guard tersely.

“Look, it’s a life or death situation-”

“I’m sure you _think_ it is kid.”

Keith’s temper was stretching dangerously thin. 

_Chill out Keith. Remember, patience yields focus._

He took a deep measured breath, and let it out slowly. He bit back every angry impulse, everything he wanted to yell and scream, and made himself speak calmly, slowly. Enunciated everything clearly so he wouldn’t be misunderstood.

“It _is_ a life or death situation. I have information about an attack that is going to happen tonight. I need to speak with Iverson so I can warn him, we are _all_ in danger.”

Keith saw the two guards exchange a look out of the corner of his eye.

“Look, we can’t just let you waltz in. Are you saying there’s going to be terrorist attack?”

“Worse.”

Both guards raised an eyebrow at that.

“What’s worse?”

“Monsters! Alien monsters are coming down to slaughter _everyone!_ ” Keith blurted.

At that exclamation, both guard burst out laughing, and Keith realised that perhaps telling the truth wasn’t the best idea.

“I’m serious!” he insisted.

“I’m serious when I say that there is _no way_ we are letting you in to speak to anyone. You’re delusional kid. Run along before we decide to have you arrested.” 

Keith’s tenuous control on his temper _snapped_.

He yanked his arm out of the guard’s grip, and spun on his heel to throw a punch at his face. The man fell like a stack of bricks, clutching face and swearing furiously. The tablet smashed on the ground with an audible crack.

Dimly in a dusty recess of his brain, the tiny section that weighed up the consequences of his actions was shaking its head in disappointment.

_So much for patience yielding focus… sorry Shiro._

The second guard grabbed him from behind, trying to pin his arms to his side to restrain him, but Keith managed to keep one arm free and get a grip on the guard’s collar. He bent his knees to throw him over his shoulder and he landed with a heavy thud.

Without pause Keith jumped over him and forced his way through the doors, darting into the entrance foyer.

Inside was just as he remembered it, light and airy, all polished chrome and shiny glass.

Before being accepted to the Garrison, he’d never set foot in any place so sophisticated. 

Students milled around; probably a lull between classes. A few closest to him stared at him like he was an alien. In a way he was, he felt like he was worlds apart from these kids.

He remembered being one of them. He remembered when his biggest worries used to be his calculus grades, and avoiding superior officers when he snuck out on to the roof to watch the sky after curfew… and then the Kerberos Mission happened and everything fell apart. 

“You there! _HALT!_ ” screeched a voice.

The two guards had picked themselves up to follow him, one clutching at his nose as blood dripped down his face. They looked _furious_.

The chatter of the crowd quieted right down into a low buzz of anticipation. He could feel the students’ gazes like pinpricks all over his body. He half expected them to start up a chant of _‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’_ like it was a schoolyard brawl.  

It was time to _run._ He’d always been fast, and now he was practically flying. He darted up the nearest flight of stairs and then on through to corridors, dodging students and professors when he could, outright pushing them out of his way when he couldn’t.

The outraged yells of the guards followed him as he ran, but it got fainter the further he ran because he was moving so much more quickly; he’d always been extremely fast on his feet.

Eventually he arrived to a round corridor made of glass on one side that looked out across the one of the flight simulators. There was no one around so he paused for a moment, breathing hard, to get his bearings.

He’d been running sort of haphazardly, not really paying attention to where he was going, only focusing on evading.

There was a class in session, he could see a cluster of students dressed in orange and white staring up at the screen that showed what was happening inside the simulator.

If he was by the flight-simulators, that meant he needed to get to the other side of this building and go up a few flights of stairs to find Iverson’s office…

There was no guarantee that Iverson would be there, but it was his best bet.

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the shout of a familiar voice, muffled through the glass that separated them, but still recognisable.

“Look! That’s _Keith_ over there! Keith Kogane!”

Keith glanced over, and then did a double take. He squinted. Olive skin, brown hair, wiry frame… It was _Lance._

 _Of course_ it was loud-mouth Lance.

He was one of the students standing by the flight-simulator, and he was flanked on either side by Pidge and Hunk. It was very strange seeing them all dressed in their Garrison uniforms.

Lance had gone and pointed out Keith’s presence to the instructor, who was now speaking hurriedly into a coms device.

_Shit._

He needed to get out of there.

Before he could start running, a unit of personnel appeared down one end of the corridor.

He turned to run in the opposite direction when the two guards from earlier showed up, and with that he was caged in, surrounded.

He stood sideways with his back to the wall so he could watch both groups out of his peripheral vision.

He counted six personnel, plus the two guards which made eight total… _shit._

“Let me pass. I need to speak to Iverson, it’s a matter of life or death,” he said roughly.

“Look kid, you’re _confused_ -” said one of the men tentatively, stepping forward with his palms facing upwards in a placating gesture, “We don’t want to hurt you, but if you do not desist, we _will_ use force to subdue you. Do you understand?”

He understood _perfectly_ , so he raised his fists in front of his face.

“I don’t want to fight; I _just_ need to speak to Iverson,” he growled, his last ditch attempt at avoiding an altercation. 

“Put your hands behind your head kid, nice and slow…”

Why couldn’t they just _listen_ to him?

Fuck it.

All personnel were trained in close range combat, but none of them had fought whip-quick monsters that moved like water, to the death, _every_ day, for over a month, _straight_. He could do this.

Keith felt the heady rush of an adrenalin spike. He took a deep measured breath, and then he _sprang_.

He made the strategic decision to attack the guards he’d fought earlier because there were only two of them as opposed to six and they were already half smashed so he knew where to hit them..

The first punch he threw was dodged, but he immediately followed up with a roundhouse kick which slammed into his intended target - the guards shoulder - knocking him to the floor and out of the way.

The second guard came in with a punch that Keith barely managed to dodge, it grazed his cheek, but he was able to grab the outstretched arm and yank the guy off balance, putting out a foot to trip him and send him sprawling.

He immediately started running again, pumping his arms faster and faster as the howls of outrage and thundering footfalls of the other six personnel following closely on his heels.

Suddenly an alarm started blaring, and a voice boomed over the loudspeakers; _“Attention students, we are on lockdown, this is not a drill. Security situation Alpha-Niner. I repeat, all students are to remain in barracks or classrooms.”_

Alpha-niner… _shit_. That was code for hostile intruder. They were on lockdown because of _him,_ and lockdown meant all the door were _literally_ locked unless you had a manual override key, and only superior officers and instructors had those.

That wasn’t his only problem. He actually needed to be going in the _opposite_ direction to get to Iverson’s office.

_Let’s fix that first._

He kept running until he came to a sharp corner, where he stopped abruptly and pressed himself against the wall just out of sight.

The first two guards overshot right past him like he intended. The third noticed him and tried to slow down, but was knocked into by the fourth sending them both tumbling to ground.

The fifth slowed enough to make a grab for him, but Keith dive rolled under his arms and sprang back to his feet.

He clothes-lined the sixth, crouching to deftly snatch the ID card pinned to his chest, and then he was off running in the right direction before any of them could pull themselves back together.

He retraced his steps until he was back in the glass corridor overlooking the simulator. The two original guards were in his path, one helping up the other from where Keith had sent them sprawling.

At the sight of him barrelling towards them, the upright guard dropped his fellow like a brick, who let out an indignant squawk at being unceremoniously dumped back on the floor.  

The standing guard fumbled with something strapped to his hip before pulling out a suspiciously gun-shaped object _._

Keith instinctively threw himself to the side (and hit the wall - _OW_ ) as the guard aimed and fired.

Twin metal prongs sprang out of the contraption and Keith realised that I wasn’t a gun, it was a _taser_. The metals wires flew harmlessly past his shoulder.

That was a relief, he’d had enough of _monsters_ trying to kill him and the last thing he needed was the _humans_ joining in.

The guard cursed wildly. He crouched beside his fallen comrade and scrambled roughly to grab his taser, presumably to take another shot.

Keith decided not to wait around for that to happen.

His options were to try and run past the guards and most likely get hit in the back by a taser, run back the way he came to face the six angry personnel, or he could cut through the door to his left which led into the flight simulator classroom.

He quickly plotted a reroute in his head… if he cut through the class there would be a flight of stairs on the other side he could take to get to the upper levels.

It was a more circuitous route, it would take longer, but it beat getting shocked or having to fight through six men.

He thrust the stolen ID card at the sensor and the door swished open.

He heard gasps as he pulled out his dagger, and a few shrieks of fear when he plunged it into the door’s control panel to prevent the guards from being able to follow him.

It wasn’t a moment too soon because he heard twin thumps on the other side and frustrated exclamations just as he pulled the blade free.

_Whew!_

He was lucky stabbing the door even worked seeing as he had no idea if it would or not before he did it.

It was the sort of thing that worked it action movies, which was why he’d done it.

That accomplished, he turned his attention to rest of the occupants of the room.

The cadets had abandoned the flight-simulator in favour of clustering around the glass by the corridor.

He could see Pidge had climbed up onto Hunk’s shoulders for a better vantage point, and even the instructor was standing there, right at the front, hands cupped to the glass.

Their bodies were all turned towards the corridor (they’d been obviously rubbernecking the action before he burst in), but their heads were tilted to look at him, like a mob of meerkats whose collective interest had been piqued by a loud startling sound off to the side.    

They were all staring with varying degrees of shock and fear, except Lance who looked like he’d been sucking on lemons for some reason. 

Keith needed to get past the throng to get to the door.

When he made to move towards them, most of the cadets did the smart thing and scattered out of his way; he _was_ still holding his knife.

He hastily shoved it back in its scabbard because intimidating cadets he should have been attending class with left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he moved through the path they cleared for him nonetheless.

One cadet broke away from the group and stood his ground, purposefully barring Keith’s way.

“ _Álvarez_ , don’t be a hero! _Get back_ ,” barked the instructor, eying Keith like he was a rabid dog.

Keith would have just barrelled through, but it was _Lance_ , and that was enough to get Keith to skid to a stuttering halt. He’d been pushing and punching through people since he set foot in the Garrison, but he couldn’t bring himself to do the same to Lance. 

“Stop right there Mullet-head!” Lance yelled, ignoring his professor’s protests. 

He really should have just forced his way past, the door was _right there_ behind him, but all he could think about was the Lance from yesterday’s reset who had tears in his eyes and who had hugged him and said he cared.    

And that was when _today’s_ Lance wound back an arm and punched him in the face.

Keith’s only excuse for not dodging was that he was shocked because he did _not_ expect Lance to hit him.

Lance’s fist connected solidly with his cheek, and Keith’s head snapped back. He stumbled backwards and toppled over with the force of the blow. 

“What the _FUCK_ Lance! Why did you hit me!?” Keith yelled, clutching his throbbing cheek.

“ _Hijo de puta!_ What the _CHEESE_ is your _FACE_ made of Keith!?” screamed Lance in return, cradling his hand to his chest.

“ _Serves you right!_ You-”

Keith didn’t get to finish because the door stuttered open with an ugly screech to herald the arrival of his pursuers. All eight of them. They had managed to manually jimmy the door open enough to start slipping through one by one.  

He scrambled back to his feet and turned to run, but Lance was still barring his way, and even though the fucker had _just_ decked him, Keith _still_ couldn’t bring himself to lay a hand on him.

He groaned in frustration and turned side-on so he could see both the personnel and Lance. Why couldn’t Lance just go cower off to the side like the rest of the cadets?

“Stand down boy. You can’t fight through all of us.”

Lance made another attempt at him, and it was so weak that Keith couldn’t tell whether it was meant to be a punch or a headlock. Either way, he dodged easily.

“ _For the love of_ \- get _back_ cadet, that’s an order! Let us handle this!”

Lance did as he was told, slinking away like a dog with its tail between its legs, and out of the corner of his eye Keith saw Hunk and Pidge rush up to him. The professor marched over too, and started pointing and gesturing at him with a viciousness that suggested she was berating him. If the slump of Lance’s shoulders was any indication, she was being harsh.

 _Good,_ thought Keith savagely _._

One of the men stepped forward - an officer,  judging by the stripes on his epaulettes.

“I’m only going to say this one more time so listen carefully. _Stand down_.”  

They had fanned out in a loose semi-circle around him. There was no running anymore.  

“I won’t. Not until you _listen_ to me,” he called.

The leading officer huffed.

“In that case you leave us no choice...”

Keith raised his fists in front of his face, determination burning through his veins.

The ensuing fight was an all-out messy brawl.

At first Keith did okay.

It was nothing to sidestep and first guy that came at him and trip him with the force of his own momentum. He ducked the second guy’s right hook and grabbed his arm to flip him over his shoulder so he landed heavily on top of the first guy.

But then a third guy grabbed him from behind, and a fourth managed to punch him in face in the exact same spot Lance had hit which made his brain feel like it was rattling in his skull.

He managed to ignore the dizziness to head-butt the guy in return, the blow connecting with a satisfying crunch, but then someone else jabbed him in the gut, _hard_ , knocking the breath from his body, and suddenly he was slammed to the floor facedown with the weight of three men on top him.

He fought like a wildcat to get free, bucking wildly and lashing out with all his limbs, and in the end two more men were forced to join in the effort of holding him down least he squirm away.

It was no use, they had him pinned too tightly, so he opened his mouth and started screaming.

“YOU DON’T GET IT! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE IF WE DON’T FIGHT BACK! THEY’RE COMING TONIGHT! FIRST SHIRO, AND THEN THESE ALIEN MONSTERS!” he roared, uncaring of the fact that he probably looked and sounded like a lunatic, “THEY’RE GOING TO SLAUGHTER _EVERYONE!_ I’VE SEEN IT!”

Someone put their hand over his mouth to shut him up. It was a very bad decision on their part because Keith had no qualms with biting. As soon as the offending hand was yanked back with a pained yelp, (“Motherfucker _bit_ me!”), Keith was yelling at the top of his lungs again; if he was going down, it wouldn’t be quietly.

“YOU NEED TO MOBILIZE THE GARRISON DEFENSES! DEPLOY THE FIGHTER JETS! THERE’LL BE _THOUSANDS_ OF THEM!”

Someone shoved something cold and metal against his neck, and then his whole body felt like it was being fried.

A taser. The electricity made every muscle in his body tense painfully. His back arched and his fists clenched. He bared his teeth and pushed through the pain to force his arm out of rigor to elbow the body pressed up directly behind him, and if the resulting pained  _ ‘oof’ _ was any indication, he got them good in the solar plexus.  

The taser stopped tazing and the grip on him loosened enough for him to thrash for freedom again, and nearly succeed.

“Shit-”

“What the _fuck_?”

“That should have knocked him out!”

“Hit him again! Up the voltage!”

The cold metal was shoved against his neck again, and this time the shock was worse, more intense, tearing a pained whine out of his throat. He couldn’t move _at all_ , he tried to scream please, enough enough _enough,_ but he was completely immobilised. 

As soon as the taser turned off, all his muscles relaxed and he started shaking uncontrollably, gasping for breath. He could hardly get enough air to breathe because of the weight piled on top of him.

He knew it was futile, he knew it was a stupid course of action and that he should just stop, but he gathered up the last of his strength anyway and tried to resist again.

“ _Seriously_?! Just give up kid!”

They shocked him again. He dimly registered the horrified gasps of the class of cadets who were still watching everything unfold.

“ _That’s enough! You’re going to kill him!”_ protested a disembodied voice. Keith registered dimly that it sounded like Hunk. The pain continued, Keith didn’t know how long for, so he supposed they didn’t listen to him. 

When it finally ended, Keith was limp as a noodle, barely clinging to consciousness, every nerve ending in his body enervated beyond reason. 

Realty blurred for him, and sound came to his ears as if it were from a great distance, garbled and unintelligible. The main thing that stuck out was the blaring alarm, echoing shrilly through his brain like an awful mental drill. 

He was lifted and manipulated by strangers’ hands, completely unable to resist. He felt the familiar weight of his dagger leave his person, and then he was patted down, presumably for other weapons.

The wouldn’t find any. The katana and explosives were stowed away safely on his bike.

Once they were satisfied he didn’t have anything sharp left on him, his arms were brought together and cuffed in front of him, and then he was yanked up by his shoulders, and none too gently dragged away.

 _“Where are you taking him?”_ the words permeated the fog around his brain and the voice sounded familiar, but Keith’s head hurt and everything was too painful and confusing for him to make sense of what was happening anymore.

His head lolled, and his eyes fluttered shut despite his best efforts to keep them open. Everything was blurry anyway, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus properly.

He didn’t know how long they dragged him for, but when they arrived wherever they were going, they undid his cuffs and forced off his leather jacket.

He was laid down on a cold metal bench and constricting belts were fastened tightly around his chest, his hips, and his knees.

Great, now he was in the same position he’d found (would find?) Shiro in; restrained, helpless and barely conscious.

He heard a door swing shut, the electronic beep of a door locking, and then he was left alone.

 

* * *

 

It took a while for his muscles to stop twitching and for the residual pain from the shocks to disappear. His whole body felt like one giant muscle with the mother of all cramps, and all he could do was lie there gritting his teeth until it decided to relax.

Once it did, other aches and pains made themselves known, hurts dealt to him that that he didn’t register in the rush of the fight.

His cheek throbbed; he could tell it was going to develop into a nasty bruise. His stomach hurt where he’d been hit, and it felt like maybe he’d broken a rib, or bruised it very badly. Probably from when he’d been slammed to the ground.

His arms and legs were sore, and would probably be riddled with more bruises from where he’d been roughly held down.

Once his head was clear enough to register the passage of time, he realised he had no way of measuring it. The room he was in had no windows, and the walls were completely bare aside from the air vents and a camera in one corner.  

At some point when he’d been wallowing in cramped misery, the alarm had stopped blaring.

Small mercies.

“Stupid. Idiot,” Keith’s self-directed dialogue was punctuated by the thud of the back of his head hitting the mental bench he was strapped to. 

Staring at the ceiling like this inexplicably made him think of the tiny green lizard. 

He had no idea what would happen to Shiro and the others without him there, and as more time passed it was looking more and more likely that they’d have to face the monsters alone tonight.

What if they all died and then he didn’t reset and they stayed dead?

The very idea was horrifying to him, so horrifying that he felt his breath quicken and his hands start to shake.

“Calm down calm down _calm down_ ,” he chanted to himself. An anxiety attack wouldn’t help anyone.

He felt a cool nudge in in his head; the presence seemed to agree with him.

_Calm down and find me._

Keith let out a choked laugh. The presence really had a one track mind, and Keith was getting sick of it.

 _How about you_ tell _me where the fuck you are?_ He thought back heatedly.

There was a flash of bright cornflower blue behind his eyelids.

“Was that supposed to be a clue?” he cried aloud, incredulous.

There was _nothing_ that colour in the desert, except maybe the sky at midday. 

_Find me find me find me…_

Keith sighed.

 _Well at least I’m not panicking anymore. So thanks for that._ No _thanks for the clue though._

A grumble vibrated across his headspace, radiating irritation.  

Keith settled in to wait.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours passed, and just when Keith was ready to start screaming at the top of his lungs from sheer boredom and frustration, the door swished open.   

Several people bustled in, dressed as though they were ready to perform surgery, complete with Garrison-orange scrubs, medical face masks, latex gloves, and surgical hair caps.  

One of them pulled in a rolling tray carrying scary looking implements; several syringes and a variety of ominous looking metal tools.

His knife was there too, and the strip of fabric that covered the insignia had been unravelled.  

Keith felt a curl of fear bloom in his stomach and hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He had a very bad feeling about this.

“What time is it?” he demanded. His voice was husky from screaming earlier. They ignored him, which was infuriating.

“What the hell is going on?! Why am I here?!”

One of the medics picked up a syringe filled with a clear fluid, tapping the needle before pushing back Keith’s head roughly to expose the side of his neck.

“ _No!_ What are you doing!? What is that!?” He tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. The needle stung where it pierced his flesh.

The medics peered down at him expectantly.

“How do you feel?” asked one.

“Fuck you! Let me go!” he snarled, straining against the belts strapping him down. They ignored him and spoke to each other.

“That was _two_ milligrams of clonazepam.”

“Should we give him another two?”

“No, clearly it has no effect, just like with subject A. That’s unfortunate for him…”

“We could try barbiturates?” 

“No, we’d have to get him to take it orally and I don’t think he’d comply. Let’s just proceed with trial sixty-two before the biopsy.”

Another syringe was produced, this one filled with a florescent blue liquid. The sight of it filled Keith with unreasonable panic. It reminded him of the blood of the monsters.

“No! Stop it! I don’t want it!”

One of the medics had to grab his head and hold it still this time because Keith was _really_ struggling in earnest now. The stab of the needle hurt more than it should have because he was so tense. The mystery liquid felt like ice spreading through his veins.

“This should make him nice and compliant,” murmured one of the faceless attendants.

They weren’t wrong. He felt every bit of anxiety slip away, replaced with a bone-deep sense of relaxation.

Everything became hazy, his thoughts scattered. He was far away, floating on a cloud.

“What’s your name?” someone asked.

“Keith,” the reply fell out of his mouth automatically.

“Where did you get that dagger?”

“My mom.”

His answer provoked a flurry of activity around him, excited chatter he couldn’t make sense of, and more clacking of instruments against the metal tray.

Someone grabbed his hand and forced a familiar handle into his grip.

There were gasps, and Keith realised that they must be looking at the insignia. It always glowed when he touched it, which was why he kept the hilt wrapped up usually. 

The questions started again.

“Tell us about your mom Keith.”

“Never met her. Gone… just after I was born.”

“And your father?”

“Gone too. When I was six.”

“Any other family?”

“No.”

“Anyone that would notice if you went missing?”

“N-no.”

“Do you know what you are?”

That question confused him. He must have taken too long to answer because someone delivered a stinging smack to his face.

“Answer the question Keith. Do you know what you are?”

Before he started hearing a voice calling him into the desert, before he starting living this godforsaken day over and over, he probably would have said human and it would have felt like the truth. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“ _No_ ,” he breathed.     

They took the dagger away from him, easily prying it from his slack fingers.  

They put a needle in his arm and collected a bag of his blood. Keith could hazily make out the red tube spiralling away from the crook of his elbow.

It _looked_ like human blood…

Blood… A lot of people would bleed if he couldn’t get the Garrison to listen to him. The relaxation was slowly slipping through his fingertips, leaving behind a familiar sense of pure dread. 

“There’s going to be an attack. Shiro’s coming back, _please_ , I’m trying to warn you,” his words came out soft and weak, easily ignored.  

He kept up a steady stream of pleas and warnings anyway as the medics bustled around him, hooking him up to various machines. Where had those come from?

He vaguely recognised a heart monitor and an IV drip, but he had no idea what the other machines were for. They clipped something to his finger and put an oxygen mask over his face.

The steady _beep_ - _beep_ of his heartrate filled the room.

They adjusted the belts holding him to the table, manipulating the one across his chest to sit higher across his shoulders and collar bones, pulling all the straps even tighter and adding more to bind down his wrists and elbows.

He felt one of the medics gripping the bottom of his shirt, and he heard a snip as they cut through the black material, exposing his torso inch by inch.

Suddenly one word mentioned earlier was ringing through his head: biopsy biopsy _biopsy._

The electronic beeps of the heart monitor sped up. Whatever sense of calm the injection had lent him was gone. 

_Beep-beep-beep-beep._

He felt someone wipe his chest with something damp. It smelled astringent.

He heard a clink of metal on metal.

_Beepbeepbeepbeep_

He felt the press of cold sharp metal against the skin of his belly. He was going to feel everything they did to him…

_Oh god, oh god, oh god-_

Abruptly, the lights overhead cut out and all the ambient sounds of the various machines Keith was hooked up to ceased. They were plunged into complete darkness, and the cold press of metal withdrew.

“A powercut,” spat someone in disgust. 

He heard cursing and the shuffle of bodies fumbling around in darkness, before someone managed to pry the door open.

Everyone filed out, and they pushed the door shut behind them, leaving Keith alone with only the sound of his own panicked gasping breaths.

_ Calm down calm down.  _ The presence sent him a flood of reassurance, and his mind felt like it was suspended in warm water for a moment, but it was no use. When the warmth receded he was still strapped to a table in the dark; immobile and defenseless.  

He only managed to get his breathing under control when he started hearing voices.

“ _Sure… this way?”_

“ _Shut up! Gotta be quiet_ … _get caught?”_

He heard a gentle tapping that got progressively louder, until it sounded like the hushed voices were inside the room with him.

 _“Here, this vent. Hold the flashlight so I can unscrew the bolts,”_ whispered a voice that sounded suspiciously like-

“P-Pidge?” Keith whimpered, incredulous and unbearably hopeful.  

“ _Did you hear that?”_

“Lance!” his voice sounded desperate, but he couldn’t help it.

 _“Okay, he’s definitely in here_.”

Suddenly there was a jarring clatter as the cover for the air-vent hit the ground.

_“Watch it Pidge!”_

Keith heard the patter of careful footsteps, and then there was a light being shined directly into his face. He blinked dazedly, and then the light was averted, panning over the rest of the room.

“ _La puta madre_ ,” exclaimed Lance faintly from somewhere beyond the light, “This is like something out of that horror movie Hunk wouldn’t watch with us…” he whispered.  

“Quick, we gotta get him out of here before they get the power working again,” hissed back Pidge, and the light snapped back to Keith’s person.

Someone removed the mask from his face, and he felt the straps holding him to the table fall away one by one.   

“W-what are y-you guys doing h-here?” Keith whispered brokenly.

“Busting you out against my better judgement mullet,” replied Lance. 

Hot hands helped him sit up, and swiped away the embarrassing wetness on his cheeks. He hadn’t even realised there were tears leaking out of his eyes.  

“He’s _freezing_ ,” hearing that made him realise that it was true, his teeth were chattering with cold.

Keith sat passively and allowed Lance and Pidge to remove the various things that had been pinned and stuck to him, connecting him to various machines.

“What do we do about the needle? Should I just pull it out?” whispered Pidge.

“Just do it,” mumbled Keith. He barely felt it as the IV line was pulled out of his skin, and then a small hand was pressing something against the tiny wound to staunch the bleeding.

“Can you walk?”

His head was still swimming thanks to whatever it was they had injected him with, but he could stand, albeit shakily.

“Let’s get out of here,” whispered Lance.

 

* * *

 

Crawling through the air vent was hard. It was dark and cramped, plus he hurt all over, and his limbs didn’t seem to want to cooperate with him anymore. Getting him through was really a joint effort between the three of them, with Lance pulling him from the front, and Pidge pushing him from behind.

Eventually they reached a vertical section that opened up directly to the outside. Keith could see that it was still light out, with just a hint of violet encroaching on the blue of the sky. It was dusk, which meant there was still time left until Shiro arrived.

Lance stood and knocked a rhythm on the side of the vent. One short tap, three quick taps, another short tap.

Hunk’s head appeared above them, blocking the sky.

“Hey buddy, gimme a hand,” called Lance. The vent was tall, the edge of it just out of reach of Lance’s fingertips when he put his arms up.

 Hunk reached down and clasped Lance’s outstretched arm, and in a surprisingly smooth motion, Lance was hoisted over the edge and both of them disappeared out of sight. 

“You next,” said Pidge, urging Keith to struggle to his feet in the cramped space.

He caught snippets of a whispered conversation going on outside the vent as he maneuvered his body upright.

“ _-Found him? -”_

“- _Just like in Saw 15!_ -”

“- _Crazy? Or Bites!”_

_“-Fine, I’ll do it-”_

“Anytime time now would be great guys!” Pidge called impatiently.

Lance’s head and torso reappeared a moment later, and he leaned over into the vent and held out both hands expectantly. The knuckles of his left fist were visibly bruised.

On a regular day when he hadn’t been beaten up and shot up full of mystery drug, Keith would have been able to pull himself up without any help at all. The vent wasn’t so tall that he couldn’t jump and reach the edge, especially with the close walls to brace himself on. 

As it was, he was panting with exertion just from crawling this far. He didn’t think he could lift a kitten like this, let alone his own body weight.

As a rule, he didn’t like accepting help, but he never would have gotten this far without their help in the first place so he swallowed his pride and clasped Lance’s hands.

He tried to help by putting his legs against the sides of the vent for purchase to boost himself up, but really Lance did most of the work.

“ _Oof_ , you’re heavier than I expected Mullet-head,” Lance grunted, pulling up him over the edge.

It took a bit of manoeuvring, but eventually Keith was out of the vent and standing on a crate next to Lance, or rather Lance was holding him up so he would stay standing and not keel over as he panted for breath.

“Man, you’re really out of it. See _Hunk_ , I _told_ you he wasn’t scary.”

Hunk was standing off to the side, eyeing Keith as if he was going to transform into a rabid beast at any moment.

It was sort of comical that someone so large and intimidating looking could look so frightened of Keith, particularly in his present frail condition.

“I, uh, I don’t bite. I promise,” he said weakly, attempting to be reassuring.

Hunk’s eyes widened and he let out a squeak of shock. Lance snorted in amusement.

“What did I say?” he asked Lance in bewilderment.

“Nothing. C’mon,” chuckled Lance, helping Keith step down off the crate. He was embarrassingly unsteady on his feet.

Lance deposited him in a shivering a heap on the ground. Despite the exertion of getting through the vents he was still cold, probably because a biting wind was hitting his bare chest, making the cut edges of his ruined t-shirt flap annoyingly.  

“Here,” muttered Lance brusquely, draping something soft and warm over his shoulders - his olive green jacket.

“Oh, I’m f-fine-”

“Shut up and accept it,” said Lance firmly, “Your teeth are chattering and its annoying.”

A particularly chilly gust of wind convinced him not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled gratefully, pushing his arms through the sleeves. He fumbled with the zipper, finding that his cold fingers were less than dexterous.

With a put-upon sigh Lance crouched in front of him and batted away his hands, doing the zipper up for him all the way to his chin.

Once he was done Lance hastily stepped away, and Keith took the opportunity to take in his surroundings.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that they were on the roof. The view over the desert was familiar, the setting sun bathing everything in golden light. It made his chest ache a little for when things were simpler.   

Once Hunk had pulled Pidge out, (he was far far too short to reach to top of the vent), Pidge marched straight over and plonked himself down in front of Keith and pulled a notebook and a pen out of a previously unnoticed backpack.

Hunk followed Pidge at a more sedate pace and stood behind him with his hands nervously clasped in front of him.

Lance went and sat down by Pidge, leaning back on his hands in a casual position that was at odds with the serious look in his blue eyes.

Keith felt a bit like a suspect in a crime that was about to be questioned by the police.

He decided to break the silence.

“You guys… you _saved_ me. Why?”

Did they remember something? He knew he didn’t exactly give them the best first impression based on his conduct in the flight-simulator room. Maybe he wasn’t the only one remembering the resets anymore? It was the only plausible explanation he could think of for their actions.

“I decided to bust you out because I want to know more about the aliens you were screaming about, more specifically how they pertain to the pilot of the Kerberos mission, Takashi Shirogane, and most importantly if you know anything about the other crew members of the Kerberos mission,” rattled off Pidge very quickly.

Keith blinked and tried very hard not to feel disappointed.

“Honestly, at first Pidge coerced me into helping-” confessed Hunk, “-but then we heard them talking about dissecting you like a lab rat and no one deserves that.”

“How about you?” he said to Lance, a little desperately “I’m surprised you helped after-”

“After I punched you in the face?” injected Lance neutrally, “Just because I punched you and loathe your guts doesn’t mean that I want you to get chopped up into tiny pieces without anesthetic,” explained Lance airily.

“If you loathe him, why’d you give him your jacket?” asked Hunk.

“Shut up Hunk! He was shivering harder than my _abuela’_ s Chihuahua, and you saw what they did to his shirt!”

 “Well, thanks. All of you,” interrupted Keith, hoping that his disappointment wasn’t audible in his voice because he _really was_ grateful that they saved him. They didn’t even _know_ him and they had done it. To Keith that was… awe inspiring.

How did they even pull it off?

“Well, Pidge hacked their video feed and heard what they were going to do to you. I stole the ventilation system schematics from the Garrison archives, and then Hunk sabotaged the primary power unit to make the electricity cut out,” explained Lance.

Keith must have asked out loud without realizing.

That was actually… really impressive.

“Anyway, let’s get back to the task at hand,” declared Pidge. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“I want you to tell me everything you know.”

Keith blinked.

“Um…”

“Pidge, I think you gotta be a little more specific than that,” said Hunk.

“Okay let’s start with this; you said my name earlier when you were in that room. I _heard_ you. How do you know who I am? We’ve never met.”

Such a deceptively simple question. A simple answer was falling out of his mouth before he could think too hard about it.

“We meet tonight.”

Whatever was in that blue drug was obviously still affecting him, making him willing to answer any questions asked of him.

“What do you mean we meet tonight?”

“Tonight Shiro arrives in an alien spaceship. He crashes out in the desert. The Garrison finds him, and I break into their temporary compound to get him out. You guys show up there too, and that’s where I meet you.”

Lance, Hunk and Pidge exchanged glances.

“He must be confused right? Maybe you punched him too hard Lance-”

“Hey!” exclaimed Keith indignantly, but Hunk continued talking as if he wasn’t there.

“-don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we stopped the overzealous scientists from knifing him, but I think we better take him to the hospital now so they can take a look at his head, as well as everything else-” 

“Shut up and let him finish explaining!” Pidge snapped at Hunk, “You can explain right?” he said to Keith.

“I can explain, but it’ll probably make me sound more crazy,” admitted Keith sheepishly.

“Well we’re all ears,” encouraged Pidge. Keith took a deep breath.

“I know what happens tonight because I’ve lived through it, more than once... I guess you could say that…”  _ Oh God this sounds ridiculous.. _ . “I’m stuck in a time-loop?” 

That was the first time he’d said it out loud to anyone. The first time he’d put a name to what he was experiencing. It was sort of… freeing. 

There was silence, and then a flurry of movement from Pidge as he hastily sent his pen and notebook flying in order to shove one of his arms behind his back.

“How many fingers am I holding up!?” he demanded.

“…I don’t know?”

Pidge looked comically disappointed.

“Look, this reset is the first time I’ve tried warning the Garrison about what’s coming,” Keith justified.  

“For the record, it was three. So you’re saying you’re reliving today over and over again? Just _today?_ ”

“So far.”

“Are you guys hearing what I’m hearing? Because that sounds impossible,” said Hunk.

“Can you tell us anything as proof? If you’re time travelling or looping or whatever, you should know stuff about us right? Stuff we haven't told you yet,” reasoned Lance.

“Hey, that’s _actually_ a smart idea!” said Pidge.

“No need to sound _so_ surprised,” retorted Lance acidly.  

Keith thought hard… the problem was the kind of knowledge he’d accumulated about them wasn’t the kind of proof they were looking for. It wasn’t information about themselves that they would recognize.

He could tell Lance that he was a self-sacrificing fucker that always threw himself into the path of danger to save people. He could tell him that he was mercurial in his moods, leaping from extreme to extreme in his dealings with Keith, never finding any middle ground.

He could tell Pidge that he was fierce, _brave_. That he was too curious for his own good.

He could tell Hunk that he was kind and thoughtful, with a good memory for details. That he was much braver than he knew.  

He could tell all of them that he knew what it sounded like to hear them die, he could describe the look on their faces as the light left their eyes. He knew the sounds they made when they were in pain. He knew what their blood looked like spilled all over the desert floor…

“We’ve never really discussed anything… _personal.._.” Keith said haltingly.

_I was too busy trying to keep us alive…_

“Oh what a shame no proof! So, to the hospital? Followed by a late night snack?” said Hunk hopefully.

“How about we just listen to what he has to say first?” snapped Pidge ferociously.

He glared first at Hunk who shrank away from him, and then at Lance who threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Good. Now, what did you mean you’ve only lived today over _so far_? I need you to give me specific parameters for your temporal shifts. Does it last a certain period of time? Does something trigger it? Do you always reset to the same point? How many resets have there been so far?” 

Pidge seized her notebook and pen and flipped to a blank page, looking up at him expectantly, pen poised to take notes.

“Sorry, which question do you want me to answer first?” Keith asked, overwhelmed.  

“Give me the parameters for the time-looping,” said Pidge.

“Right… So, basically every time I die, the day resets and I wake up back in bed this morning. It doesn’t matter when or how I die, I always wake up in the same spot, same time.”

The excitement that had been bubbling in Pidge’s expression diminished as her eyes widened in shock behind her round glasses.

Lance’s mouth hung open and Hunk looked downright ill.

“You die and the day resets? Is that what you’re saying?” clarified Pidge.

“Pretty much.”

“Have you tried not dying?” squeaked Hunk.

“ _Yes_. I put _a lot_ of effort into not dying, but since it started I haven’t managed to survive to midnight tonight.”

 _I try extremely hard to keep you guys from dying too._ He decided not to tell them that.

Hunk’s brown face looked unnaturally pale.

“Why do you keep dying?” asked Lance.  

“Monsters. Alien monsters attack, right after Shiro crash lands. I meant every word I yelled back in your class you know.”

There was a heavy silence. Pidge looked like he was trying to reconcile the theory of relatively with quantum mechanics in his head, Lance was frowning deeply, and Hunk looked contemplative. 

“Guys, I think he’s telling the truth,” said Hunk, breaking the silence, “I wish he wasn’t, but I think he really believes everything he’s saying. That means that there are two scenarios; either what he says is happening _is_ actually happening, or he’s delusional,” it was clear which option Hunk preferred.  

“Tell us what they’re like, the aliens or monsters or whatever they are,” said Pidge.  

Keith looked down and put a hand on his chin, thinking hard. How could he describe them…

“Okay, um… have you guys seen any of those really _really_ old Alien movies?”

“Of course!” “Yeah,” “Uh, _NO_ ,” said Lance Pidge and Hunk respectively and simultaneously.  

“Are you saying we get invaded by _Xenomorphs_!” cried Lance. He looked equal parts alarmed and excited.

“Because _holy crow_ that would be amazingly terrifying and kinda cool at the same time,” he continued.

“They kind of look like that… except they walk on all fours, and they’re more, I dunno, _vine-y_? Like their limbs are made of these vines all twisted together. When they get cut they bleed this fluorescent blue liquid, and to kill them you need to stab a specific spot in their head, sort of between the eyes towards the back.”

_What else…_

“Um, they’re about the size of a horse. Well, most of them. The first time I lived today a bigger glowy-er one got us, but I haven’t seen it since.”  

There was another stretch of silence. It seemed like the trio were trying to imagine what Keith had described.

“How about this,” said Pidge eventually, “That sounded unbelievable, so let’s all tell him something personal, and then if he resets, he’ll be able to prove it next time, and we can go from there,” he suggested.

“Woah, hang on a minute, that’s a terrible plan!” interrupted Lance. Pidge rolled his eyes impatiently.

“Lance, we know you have this weird beef going on with Keith, but come on! You don’t have to tell him your deepest darkest secret, it’s allowed to be inane. It just has to be something he couldn’t know about you without you telling him first.”

“Hey! It’s not a terrible plan because we have to share personal information with him, which, incidentally, I _would_ like to avoid. It’s a terrible plan because that means he’s planning on _dying_! Today!”

“But, I _am_ going to die,” said Keith flatly, “Either I’ll die during the alien invasion, or the Garrison scientists are going to try and dissect me.”

Both those options were pretty bleak. Keith didn’t know which he preferred.  

Lance glared at him as if he were horrible for having the audacity to accept his inevitable death so calmly.  

“What? It’s true.”

“I’ll go first! If I were stranded on scary gas planet and had to eat only one food for the rest of my life, it would be a burrito,” said Hunk.

“Fine, my favourite food is garlic knots from the pizza stand on the boardwalk at _Varadero_ beach,” huffed Lance.

“Samuel Holt is my father, and Matthew Holt is my brother,” said Pidge.

“WHAT!?” exclaimed Hunk and Lance simultaneously, turning to gape at him.

“F-from the Kerberos mission?!” stuttered Hunk.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know Samuel Holt had two sons!” exclaimed Lance.

“He doesn’t,” said Pidge, and suddenly Keith _knew_. 

“He has a son and a daughter doesn’t he?” he murmured softly.

“ _Waitwaitwait_ , are you saying Pidge is a GIRL!? _HOW_?!” shrieked Lance, his face slack with utter shock.

“Huh, can’t say I’m surprised-” said Hunk, “-So that’s why you were so gung-ho about breaking Keith out?”  

“I mentioned Shiro, and you thought I might know something about them,” reasoned Keith aloud.

“Pidge is a GIRL?” repeated Lance, his voice an octave higher. Everyone ignored his meltdown.

“ _Do_ you? Know anything? Has Shiro told you what happened?” the hoping shining out of Pidge’s eyes was blinding. 

“I haven’t spoken to Shiro actually… he’s unconscious when we get him out and I’ve never lived long enough for him to come to-”

“Hang on, is Pidge Gunderson even your real name?!” injected Lance loudly, _still_ hung-up on that revelation.

“No,” huffed Pidge in annoyance, “Pidge is a nickname Matt used to call me, and my cat’s called Gunderson.”

“So what is your-”

“I prefer Pidge and that’s all you get to know!” she snapped at Lance, and then she turned to Keith.

“I’m going to help you,” she declared fiercely. 

“Thanks, but you won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

“Hang on, you’re _still_ planning on dying?” interrupted Lance, snapping out of his shocked stupor.

“Were you not listening to what I said? The alien monster army is going to attack us and I failed at even _finding_ Iverson today. This reset is a wash. _Of course_ I’m going to die.”

For some reason they all looked upset at his declaration, so he softened his tone and continued, “Look, don’t worry I’ll make sure I kick it before the monsters get to you guys. I prefer it that way, I’ve had enough of watching you die to last me a lifetime.”     

His words seemed to have the opposite effect he intended, with them looking more distressed compared to before.

Pidge pulled herself together first.

“Okay, so your aim is to get the Garrison to mobilize their fighter jet fleet to fend off an attack from the alien monsters. Correct?” 

“Yeah I guess,” replied Keith miserably, because when she put it like that it sounded impossible.

“Unless you have a better idea.”

“Well, I have a few-”

They all froze when they heard a bang ring out.

Across from them, Keith could see that the door leading to the roof had been flung open, and out poured Garrison personnel.

“There they are!” shouted one of the men, pointing at them.

They all sprang to their feet. Hunk and Lance grabbed one of Keith’s arms each, and then he was being dragged with them as they sprinted across the roof.

“There’s another door at the other end!” cried Pidge.

They fled between rows of solar panels, their goal in sight ahead of them, and then that door slammed open and more personal burst forth.

They skidded to a halt, unable to move forwards, and unable to go back.

They were slowly pressed backwards towards the edge of the roof as the personnel hemmed them in. 

“Lance Álvarez, Pidge Gunderson, Hunk Savea, we need you to stand down cadets. That individual is highly dangerous. I repeat, step away,” called one of the men.

“Guys, go. It’s just me they want,” urged Keith.

Hunk let go of his arm and Keith thought he was going to do as they said, but instead he clamped an arm over Keith’s shoulders.

Lance’s hot hand slipped into his on his other side, squeezing tightly, and Pidge positioned herself in front of him defensively.

Keith was baffled, what were they _doing_?  

“What are you guys-”

“FUCK YOU!” yelled Lance, flipping them off with the hand that wasn’t holding Keith’s, “He isn’t a science experiment! You can’t just _dissect_ him!”

“You have until the count of ten to step away from the subject!”

Five men broke away from the rest and fanned themselves out in a straight line across from them.

_“Ten.”_

Each man raised a gun and pointed it straight at them.

_“Nine.”_

Like a firing squad.

_“Eight.”_

Keith let go of Lance’s hand and shrugged Hunk’s arm off his shoulder.

_“Seven.”_

“Do as he said-” urged Keith.

_“Six.”_

“-Stand down.”

_“Five.”_

Keith stepped backwards, edging towards the lip of the building. “Keith, don’t!” said Pidge, understanding lighting her eyes.

_“Four.”_

Hunk caught on too, “Keith, seriously, _don’t_!”

_“Three.”_

“Don’t what?” said Lance.

_“Two.”_

He let himself topple backwards.

Hunk and Lance both lunged to try and grab him, but it was too late, he was falling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm so pumped for season 4 which is why I decided to yolo and just post this as is so it might be riddled with typos cause it hasn't really been edited- please forgive me!
> 
> I'll get it betaed and I'll edit it later, promise.
> 
> Please tell me what you thought :D
> 
> Here is what I would like feedback on in particular if you're feeling opinionated:  
> Was the action okay? I often skip action scenes when I'm reading cause I find it kinda boring so I tried to make this not boring?? Does it make sense? And most importantly, are they in character?
> 
> Well, ima go watch season 4 now
> 
> woohoo


	4. Reset 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith tries to speak to Commander Iverson, but Commander Iverson ends up doing all the talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for what I make Keith go through. It's not too graphic I think, but read carefully. You'll know when.

**Reset 52**

“That… actually wasn’t too bad,” remarked Keith to the tiny green lizard upon waking.

Sure, he’d shattered every bone in his legs on impact, and probably his spine too, but he’d only been in pain (okay, it was agony) for a second at most before his broken body had given out and he was waking up back in bed in his tiny shack.  

Compared to some of the other deaths he’d suffered through, falling twenty stories onto concrete was downright peaceful.

It marked the first time he hadn’t died at the hands of the monsters, and it was something of a revelation that he could trigger an earlier reset himself if he wanted to.

Keith recognised that his life had _truly_ hit rock bottom if the thought of killing himself to reset was actually pretty buoying.

He was relieved that he had reset at all. In hindsight, it was a pretty rash thing to do when he wasn’t sure what would happen; he was lucky that he apparently didn’t need to be killed exclusively by a monster for it to work.

At the time he wasn’t really thinking, he just couldn’t stand to watch the others get mowed down. For him.

Keith couldn’t understand why they were so… why they were _so_ … he couldn’t find the right word he wanted to use, but thinking about the three of them defending him made him feel simultaneously elated, aghast and furious. Also curiously warm.   

“Why are they so stupid?” he remarked to the tiny green lizard, thinking about Lance gruffly doing up the zipper of his jacket, Hunk clamping his arm over his shoulders, and Pidge fiercely vowing to help him…

He didn’t actually think they were stupid at all. Not even Lance.

He sighed heavily.

“At least now I know there’s a trespassing order against me.”

The lizard scurried away across the dusty rafters, just like it always did.

“Thanks for listening,” he called after it.

He also now knew that the Garrison scientists were fascinated with his knife and wanted to dissect him because they didn’t think he was human. Heck, Keith didn’t think he was human now either, at least not completely.

Something had always tickled him at the back of his mind, he’d always been on a slightly different frequency to other people, he had never been quite _right,_ never really fit in anywhere.

Perhaps that was why he was drawn to the stars; maybe that was where part of him had come from.

Apparently the Garrison scientists wanted to cut that part of him out of his living, breathing, _feeling_ body.

Of all the things he’d been through so far, nothing had rattled him more than being strapped down on that cold metal bench, helpless and vulnerable to their scalpels.

He'd rather be on his feet facing down snarling monsters any day…

The Garrison _knew_ something, they’d recognised his dagger, they’d mentioned another ‘subject.’

He’d take his chances with vivisection if it meant getting answers about where he’d come from, answers about his past.

He certainly wasn’t going back as Keith Kogane though; he would need to sneak in as someone else…

 

* * *

 

His old uniform smelled musty and was very wrinkled from being shoved at the bottom of the duffel bag he’d used to transport his meagre belongings after being expulsed.

Wrinkling his nose, Keith shoved on the familiar orange and white jacket over his regular black t-shirt, not bothering to deal with the crumpled white button-down he was supposed to wear underneath.

To Keith’s dismay, it was a _very_ tight fit. He personally hadn’t noticed it, but he must have grown some over the past six months in the desert despite subsiding on mostly tinned beans and noodles.

The sleeves were laughably short, exposed his wrists, and the fabric was uncomfortably tight across his back and chest.

He couldn’t get the top button of the pants to do up, and they hugged his legs far too tightly for him to sit comfortably without fear that they would rip.  

He didn’t have a full length mirror in his shack, only a tiny cracked thing, discoloured with age over the bathroom sink, but he didn’t need one to know that he looked _ridiculous._

At least the black boots still fit. He was in the habit of buying clothes and shoes several sizes too big so he could grow into them (you never knew when someone was going to buy you new stuff in foster care) and he’d bought the boots a size too large shortly before his exodus from the Garrison.

They fit perfectly now.

The rest of the uniform on the other hand had swum on his skinny fifteen-year old frame when he’d first been accepted to the Garrison, and he remembered it fitting pretty much correctly just before he left at seventeen.

Maybe he could get away with just wearing his regular black jeans with the ill-fitting jacket and the boots? The belt wasn’t a problem, it was adjustable and apparently his waist hadn’t increased in girth significantly. Just his chest and shoulders, and his legs.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

 

* * *

 

“Why aren’t you wearing the correct uniform cadet? And what were you doing off grounds?”

He was faced with the same two guards from the day before.

_Shit._

“Um… I… well, I…”

“What’s your name?”

He couldn’t be Keith Kogane.

“Lance Álvarez,” he blurted, before immediately mentally castigating himself because that was probably the worse alias he could have chosen.

 _Why didn’t you think this through_ before _you approached them?_

He’d been hoping that they would just let him breeze through if they thought he was a student and now he was paying for his thoughtlessness.

“ _Your_ name is Lance _Álvarez_?” said one of the guards incredulously.

“Yes, my name is Lance Álvarez,” he said feeling like the biggest idiot ever, but he’d made his bed and he was determined to lie in it.

“How’re you Asian with a surname like _Álvarez?_ ” asked one of the guards.

“Jesus Christ Daryl! You can’t ask people why they’re _Asian_! That’s fucking rude!” cried the other guard.

“What!? It’s not rude, does he look like an _Álvarez_ to you?”

“Of course not-”

“How ‘bout it cadet? Do  _ you _ think it’s rude?”

He most definitely thought it was rude, but he was the one who was lying about his identity so he just shook his head. Glass houses and stones and all that.

“Great, so tell us how you got your name.”

When lying, it was best to start with a kernel of truth.

“My parents abandoned me when I was a kid and then I was adopted.”

“Oh. I see…”

An awkward silence followed where Daryl the guard shifted his weight guiltily and the other nameless guard looked smug at his discomfort.  

“Shut the fuck up Aarav,” snapped Daryl with no real heat.

“I didn’t say anything,” replied Aarav, perfectly innocent, aside from the smirk on his face.

“Hang on a minute, Lance Álvarez… name rings a bell. Wasn’t Jeremy from the night shift telling us about a punk called Lance last week?” said Daryl.

“Oh yeah! I remember!” cried Aarav, snapping his fingers and turning to Keith.

“You’re the cadet that snuck out to see a girl and then came back with no pants!” he crowed.

 _Lance did_ what _now?_

“…Yes… that was me…” he deadpanned, internally cursing Lance.  

 “Jeremy didn’t mention that you were Asian though…”

“Yeah, but that’s cause Jeremy isn’t a racist piece of shit,” chuckled Aarav.

“Is that what you were doing out just now? Seeing a girl?” said Daryl, wilfully ignoring the other guard’s remark.

“Um yes, I went to get my pants back?” Keith phrased it like a question, hesitantly pointing to his jeans.

The guards looked at each other, before dissolving into raucous laughter. It took them a full minute to collect themselves.

Keith could hardly believe that these two men had chased him through the Garrison the day before. He had broken Daryl’s nose, and Aarav had tried to shoot him with a tazer, and now they were having a laugh at his expense.  

“Tell ya what,” said Aarav, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, “We were young once. We know how it is, don’t we Daryl?”

“Sure do.”

 “We won’t write you up if you don’t mention to anyone that Daryl was racist to you,” Aarav gave him a jaunty wink.

“Hey! No I wasn’t” cried Daryl indignantly, “I _love_ Chinese food.”

“Oh my god Daryl you are _so_ embarrassing, stop talking” said Aarav, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 “I’m actually Korean…” said Keith awkwardly.   

“Ohh, you gotta admit though, it’s really hard to tell-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, don’t say another word-” interrupted Aarav, “go ahead cadet and feel free to report this asshole to HR.”

“What I do? And what about the deal?”

“Um, it’s fine. I accept the deal or whatever,” said Keith quickly.

The guards waved him past, and Keith heard Aarav chastising Daryl (half-jokingly, half-seriously) as he walked freely inside, hardly believing his luck.

 

* * *

 

Now that he was in, he wasn’t sure what exactly to do.

He had two options.

Go directly to Iverson’s office, or find Pidge and take her up on her offer of help.

Instinctively he knew that Iverson probably wouldn’t listen to him, not without some sort of proof, but he decided he may as well try anyway.

If he could muddle through the correct combination of words to convince the man, then the nightmare might end.

Keith reasoned that ultimately Iverson was the commander of the Garrison, he presumably had the power to mount a defence, and Pidge didn’t.

He kept his head down and powerwalked towards upper floors where the Superior officers’ quarters were located, marking sure to skirt the flight-simulators so actual Lance wouldn’t blow his cover, or punch him in the face again.

He got some funny looks for his too-small wrinkled jacket and his non-regulation pants, but no one stopped him.

He was fairly vibrating with tension by the time he got to Iverson’s floor. His memories of the last time he was here were… _unpleasant_ to say the least, but he was nothing if not determined.

He would keep coming back no matter how many times it took.

Just as he identified the correct door, his luck ran out he was waylaid.

“Woah, where do you think you’re going cadet?” there was a guard.

Keith blinked.

_Shit._

“Um… I have a disciplinary meeting with Iverson,” he blurted, actually pretty pleased with himself for thinking up something believable so quickly.

The guard looked him over and the unimpressed look on his face as he took in Keith’s dishevelled appearance screamed ‘ _I can see why_.’

“That’s _Commander_ Iverson to _you_ cadet, and you must have your time mixed up because he isn’t here. He’s observing the third year flight-simulations.”

What the fuck? Keith had been _right by_ the flight-simulators yesterday and he hadn’t seen Commander Iverson at all!

He supposed that today he arrived a little later, having gone through his old stuff to find his uniform, but still!

The guard eyed him suspiciously.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“My mistake, got the time confused, sorry,” he mumbled.

Keith quickly made an about-face and was prepared to powerwalk off as quickly as he could without running, but the guard clamped a hand down on his shoulder before he could escape.

“Not so fast cadet. State your name.”

_Shit._

Well… pretending to be Lance worked last time right?

“Álvarez. _Lance_ Álvarez,” he mumbled.

 The guard gave him a funny look but didn’t comment.

He let go of Keith’s shoulder to pull out a device and start tapping on it, lowering his suspicious gaze.

_Fuck._

Keith was screwed. Lance’s ID photo would come up and the guard would see that Keith did not look like him at all…

To prevent that from happening, Keith punched the guy in the face.

He hit the floor with thud, out cold. The tablet clattered to the floor beside him.

Keith backed away slowly for a few steps, eyeing the man’s slack face for signs of burgeoning consciousness.

There were none so he whirled to flee the scene, and smacked straight bang into an officer that was coming around the corner from the opposite direction.

“Watch where you’re walking cadet!” he snapped, and then he looked up and caught sight of the guard Keith had laid out.

Lightening quick, the officer grabbed a handful of Keith’s collar and slammed him up against the wall, pinning him with a hand to his throat.

“What is going on here?” he demanded.

“I… He, uh passed out? I was going to um, get help…” Keith stuttered.

“Oh.”

The officer let him go abruptly.

“Hurry up then. I’ll stay with him.”

Keith didn’t need to be told twice, he _ran_.

Well, there was nothing for it. Who knew when the guard would come to and raise the alarm? Or when the officer he’d just lied to was going to realize that Keith had no intention of finding or bringing back help? Iverson was watching the flight simulator, so that was where he was going.

He slowed his pace to a brisk walk that he hoped looked natural once he was a few corridors away, and made his way to the simulator room.

No one stopped him, although he did collect his fair share of strange looks.

He arrived at the door on the opposite side of the room to the one he’d burst in yesterday.

Peering through the glass, he could see that a team had just finished a jump. They were getting chewed out by Iverson himself while the rest of the class watched on.

Boy, they must have done truly awfully in the simulator because Iverson usually left the instructing (and the roasting as it were) to the actual instructors.

Generally, when he came to observe he watched from an upper floor, staring with his good eye unblinkingly in a way that let you know you were being judged and probably found lacking. 

Commander Iverson was the very definition of intimidating.

He was tall and imposing, perhaps in his sixties, with brown skin, a bald head, and perpetually erect posture. He very rarely smiled, his default expression seeming to be a displeased scowl. He’d lost his right eye at some point, leaving it permanently screwed shut with a scar that spoke of violence marring the lid.

No one knew how it happened, although you could probably fill a book with the rumours and legends that flew around the Garrison.

Shiro told him that during his first year as a Cadet, Iverson taught his introduction to Aerial Safety Protocols.

He yelled at them at least once a week, ranted and raved about how they needed to do better, they needed to work _harder_. Shiro’s whole class had been convinced they were going to fail because of how incredibly unimpressed Iverson seemed with them, so it was a pleasant surprise when everyone actually passed with pretty good grades.

 _“He terrorised us into doing better Keith,”_ Shiro had explained, “ _He just wants us to succeed and his M.O. is tough love. His bark is much worse than his bite.”_  

Keith was shaken out of his thoughts when a student brushed past him to enter the room. He was followed closely by two others, and they were all dressed in flight suits.

Keith figured they were the next group up on the simulator once the current group was finished being chewed out.

Keith slipped into the room behind them, and sidled silently up to the mass of students gathered at the entrance to the simulator, planting himself unobtrusively at the back, just in time to catch the Iverson’s gravelly voice rattling off his signature lecture;   

“-The Galaxy Garrison exists to turn young cadets like you into the next generation of elite astroexplorers-” Keith remembered hearing those words verbatim at his entrance ceremony.

“These kind of mental mistakes are _exactly_ what cost the lives of the men on the Kerberos Mission!” he continued.

What. The. _Fuck._

Keith saw _red_. These motherfuckers were _still_ lying about Shiro, _still_ blackening his name.

He clenched his fists and seriously considered surging forward and decking Iverson in the face (again), before screaming at him that he was wrong wrong _wrong_ , but a familiar voice beat him to it.

“That’s not true, sir!” It was _Pidge,_ and she was full of righteous fury _._

What she said echoed Keith’s sentiments exactly, although he would have replaced ‘sir’ with a different word.  

Tiny Pidge was part of the group that was getting chewed out, along with Lance and Hunk. She was glaring up at Iverson with the ferocity of a tiny dog that thought it could take on a pitbull.

“What did you say!?” demanded Iverson.

Lance jumped in and put a hand over Pidge’s mouth, which was disappointing to Keith because he could tell from the glint in Pidge’s eyes that she had been about to really work herself into a rage filled rant. Keith would have liked to hear what she had to say. Maybe he could ask her about it later, they could compare notes.  

“Sorry, sir. I think he, uh, hit his head when he fell out of his chair. But point taken,” apologized Lance with a winning grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Lance snapped back to attention when Iverson turned his scrutiny towards him.

Even though he only had one eye, Iverson’s displeased glare held the potency of about a hundred.

Lance visibly wilted, (as much as he was able to while standing at attention) as Iverson stalked forward, crowding into his space to address him in a voice cold enough to rival a Siberian winter.

“I hope I don’t need to remind you that the only reason you’re here is that the best pilot in your class had a discipline issue and flunked out,” Iverson ducked his head so they were nose to nose, “- _Don’t_ follow in his footsteps.”  

 _He’s talking about me_ Keith realised with a jolt.

Lance looked _devastated_ by Iverson’s words, and for some reason seeing loud mouth Lance look so small made Keith want to pummel something.  

“Next!” Iverson called, and then the three students Keith had sneaked in with moved forward.

Keith found himself following them, stepping up in front of them, in front of Iverson without really thinking about what he was doing.

This probably wasn’t the best way to do this, but Iverson was there, Keith was angry and filled with adrenaline, and he had reached the end of his patience roughly forty resets ago.

No matter how many times Shiro had tried to drill into him that patience yields focus, a lack of temperance had always been Keith’s biggest flaw.  That along with his short temper, which was probably why the only person who had ever been able to put up with his grumpy ass was Shiro, who had the patience of an angel.

Keith had the pleasure of seeing Iverson’s face pale at the sight of him.

“That’s Keith! Keith Kogane!” exclaimed Lance somewhere off to the side, and an interested murmur rippled through the crowd of students.

“I need to speak with you,” Keith addressed Iverson directly, standing tall and looking him straight in the eye.

“Instructor Chan, take over while I deal with this,” Iverson ordered brusquely, tight-lipped and terse, before striding over to Keith and roughly grabbing him by the upper arm to frogmarch him out of the room.

Keith allowed himself to be pulled down the corridor. This was fine. He could walk and talk.

“I’ve come to warn you-”

“ _Shut up_ you _stupid_ boy. You shouldn’t be here,” snarled Iverson.

Keith was pulled into an empty classroom, and the door was slammed behind him.

“You don’t understand, tonight-”

“No Kogane, _you_ don’t understand. Who else knows you’re here?!”

“It doesn’t matter! You need to listen to me-”

Iverson pushed Keith into a seat roughly and loomed over him menacingly.

“ _Who knows you’re here_!?” Iverson shouted in his face. His good eye was wide; Keith could see the whites all around the iris.

Although Iverson had a reputation for being a hard ass, Keith had never witnessed the man lose his cool like this. It shocked Keith enough that he answered the question.

“I-I knocked out the guard by your office. There was an officer too, I told him the guard passed out and that I was getting help. Just them and everyone in the classroom.”

“What about the guards on the entrance?” Iverson grilled.

“I told them I was someone else and they let me in.”

This information took a bit of the franticness out of Iverson’s face.

“Good. They don’t know you’re here. Yet. You need to be long gone before they realize-”

“I’m not going anywhere until you listen to me!” yelled Keith, making to jump out of his seat.

Iverson put a heavy hand on his shoulder and forced him back down.

“Listen to me carefully Kogane, because I’m only going to say this _once_ -” Iverson spoke with a quiet sort of gravity that Keith couldn’t help but respond to with acquiesce. Iverson waited a beat to make sure Keith wasn’t going to jump up again before removing his hand and stepping back.

“When I expelled you, I was doing you a _favour_. I may be the Commander of the Garrison, but I only have authority over the teaching and learning program, and the students. I have no control over the auxiliary research team. Do you understand?”  

_The research team…_

Keith’s mind flicked to the team of scientists that wanted to cut him to pieces the day before.

“I can see that you already have an inkling of what I’m talking about. Do you remember that fight you started just before your expulsion?”

“I didn’t start that fight!” protested Keith furiously.

“Did you or did you not throw the first punch?” questioned Iverson bluntly with a pointed look.

Keith crossed his arms tightly and stewed in angry silence. He _had_ thrown the first punch, but that guy had had it coming for what he’d said about Shiro.

Unhappily for Keith, five of the guy’s friends had jumped in to back him up and had beaten the living shit out of him.

“You wound up in the infirmary and the doctor suspected that you might have few broken ribs so they did a full diagnostic. They discovered previously unnoticed… _irregularities_.”

“Irregularities?” murmured Keith weakly.

“Yes. Apparently there were significant inconsistencies with _human_ anatomy. Given the way you fly; I guess that isn’t too surprising.”

Keith frowned questioningly.  

“Seriously kid, your proprioception scores were off the charts,” said Iverson flatly, “The first time we put you in the sim you pulled a move that should have been impossible because of the g-force, should have _at least_ made you pass out, but you walked it off like it was nothing and finished the god-damn mission on your first run.”

The circumstances surrounding Keith’s first run on the simulator were _unorthodox_ to say the least, but Keith remembered with perfect clarity the looks on their faces when he had emerged after his first jump. They were so shocked that at first he’d thought he was in _even more_ trouble, but then the opposite proved to be true.

Fighting and flying had always come easily to Keith. His instructors had always said he had good instincts, natural born talent.

 _“Anyway_ , those ‘irregularities’ would have been enough to get your custody turned over to the research team.”

Keith’s head was spinning. It was one thing to suspect he wasn’t completely human, but it was something else completely to have it confirmed.

“What do you mean?” he asked weakly.

“They wanted to experiment on you,” said Iverson bluntly, “They thought they could get you classified as a non-person under the Extra-Terrestrial Inquiry Act which would negate your human rights and give them free reign to do whatever they wanted.”

“N-non-human?” Keith stuttered.

Keith had heard of the Act, but he was pretty sure it was meant more for the potential non-sentient life forms they expected missions like Kerberos to bring back, alien plants and alien bacteria. It codified the protocols for their research and quarantine.  

“So I expelled you,” continued Iverson, “If they get a hold of you now, there isn’t anything I can do to stop them. I’m telling you this so you understand why you need to leave and never come back.”

“Do you think I’m an… that I’m not-”

“Not human? Don’t know don’t care,” stated Iverson bluntly, “I’m angry that this bureaucratic science bullshit cost me the best pilot I’ve ever seen in my career. You could have been _great_.”

“Why did you kick me out? Why didn’t you let them-” Iverson cut him off.

“ _Shiro_. As a favour to Shiro. Before you came along, _he_ was the best I’d ever seen. A good man. He was fond of you.”

An unspoken _and I was fond of him_ hung in the air between them.

“Then you know it couldn’t have been pilot error,” said Keith quietly.

“Yes,” confirmed Iverson.

Keith was angry, _so_ angry, but everything Iverson had just told him left him too emotionally drained to scream and fight like last time they’d spoken about Shiro. (Which, incidentally, was during his disciplinary meeting following the fight Keith was definitely justified in starting).

“Why?” he asked instead, “Why are you lying to everyone?”

Iverson smiled bitterly.

“ _Money_. Pilot error meant an insurance pay-out. Admitting that we have no idea what the fuck happened means we get nothing”

“You sold Shiro out for _money_?!”

“Don’t look at me like that boy. Mrs Shirogane got a hefty sum too. You _know_ that’s what Shiro would have wanted.”   

The worst thing was, Iverson was _right_.

Shiro was an only child to parents that had been trying and trying for years to conceive, and by the time they did, they were both well past their prime. Shiro’s father had died after a long illness when Shiro was still a teenager, and Mrs Shirogane was elderly with failing health.

Shiro would want her to have enough money to be well cared for in his absence.  

Keith shook his head to clear it. This conversation was getting away from him.

“None of that matters right now. Shiro is-”

He was cut off by a loud beeping coming from Iverson’s pocket.

Iverson held up his hand to silence Keith, and pulled out a coms device.

“Iverson,” he barked.

Keith wanted to rip the device out of Iverson’s hand, and then scream in his face what was going to happen that night, but Iverson was frowning deeply at whatever he was hearing, his eye flicking back to Keith’s face intermittently.

Keith knew the call had something to do with him so he held his tongue.

“He gave me the slip. Last I saw it looked like he was heading upstairs. All units converge on the roof, we’ll trap him up there. I’m en-route to your location.”

Iverson snapped the device shut.

“The guard woke up. They know you’re here, which is your cue to run for the front entrance and hightail it out of here. I put them off your trail, but we have security cameras in the corridors so you need to hurry so they don’t catch you.”

Iverson strode to the door and tapped something into the control pad beside it.

 “Wait! I have to tell you-”

“I hope it goes without saying that you _will not_ tell anyone what I’ve disclosed to you,” the ‘or else’ hung in the air between them. Iverson sure had a knack for saying one thing while conveying something else entirely, “The door will unlock in five minutes, and then you _run_. Good luck Kogane, I hope for your sake that I never see you again.”

Iverson left the room and the door shut behind him with an electronic beep before Keith could so much as blink.

He scrambled to his feet to follow, but the door stayed stubbornly closed no matter how hard he pulled on the handle.

_What the fuck?_

“What the fuck!?” he exclaimed.

He had Iverson _right there,_ and somehow he hadn’t fucking told him what he needed to hear.

He pulled out his knife and stabbed the control panel in a fit of pique. Unfortunately, this did not cause the door to spring open like he wanted.

It literally just _broke_ it, and Keith was forced to spend much longer than five minutes painstakingly prying the door open with his knife. 

Once he finally got out of the room, Iverson was long gone.

Keith kicked a wall in frustration, furious at himself for letting Iverson slip away.

Keith was once again faced with two options; he could play it safe and leave the Garrison, save himself, for a few hours at least.

 _Or_ , he could head to the roof where he knew Iverson would be.

Keith wasn’t in the habit of playing it safe.

If he got caught and dissected, so be it if it meant a chance to prevent the alien monsters from winning.

He headed for the stairs.

 

* * *

 

The look on Iverson’s face when he showed up was first shocked, and then thunderous, but Keith got to scream his piece as the hot desert sun, and the gathered personnel, beat down on him.

_Shiro’s coming._

_Don’t drug him._

_Aliens monsters will attack._

_Mobilise the Garrison defences._

He tried to fight his way out, but it was no use, there were too many of them.

There was a moment when he had the opportunity to leap off the roof, but if he reset then this would all have been for nothing and Iverson would go back to being ignorant and Keith would have to do everything all over again.

He was _tired_ of doing things over and over again.

Iverson’s stony expression gave Keith no inkling of what he was thinking, whether he believed Keith or not.

He only betrayed one emotion in the curl of his scowl as Keith was dragged away in cuffs; disappointment.

 

* * *

 

Keith found himself strapped down on the metal bench in the empty room again.  

It was worse this time because he _knew_ what was coming.

For hours he struggled against the restraints, writhing as much as he was able to, rubbing the skin on his arms raw, but it was no use.

When the scientists finally bustled in and started prepping for whatever they were planning on doing to him, they ignored every word he said again until they injected him with the blue liquid and started asking him questions, the same questions as last time.

_What’s your name? Where did you get that knife? Tell us about your mom. And your Father? Any other family? Anyone that would notice if you went missing? Do you know what you are?_

He tried to lie, but truthful answers were pried out of his throat against his will, and when he tried to just keep his mouth shut they slapped him until it opened and the words came pouring out anyway.  

He didn’t realise that he’d been hoping, _counting_ , on Pidge Lance and Hunk to intervene again, until it didn’t happen.

The power didn’t cut out, and the cold metal of the scalpel pressed down down down until Keith was screaming at the feeling of the sharp metal parting his skin.

_I’m here._

The presence at the back of his head flooded his brain with warm water, surrounding his consciousness so thoroughly that it felt as if he was floating in a sunlit pool. His eyes fluttered shut and behind his eyelids all he could see was cornflower blue.

The pain of what was happening to him receded from a sharp stab to a dull pinch. The frantic beeping of the heart monitor settled down to an even rhythm and Keith stopped screaming.

Words floated past his ears, but he couldn’t make any sense of them, catching only every other word as if he were submerged under water and attempting to listen to a conversation far above him on land.

“- _have passed out, better this way_ -”

“- _Liver sample_ -”

“- _Shame it isn't compatible_ -”

“- _Similar to subject A_ -”

“- _Missing_? _Hand me the_ -”

Keith didn’t know how much time passed. He didn’t know how long the presence held him in its warm watery embrace.

All he knew was that he _clung_ to it with every fiber of his being when it tried to recede. 

_Nononono please don’t go it hurts it hurts it hurts please stay please please-_

_Find me_ it intoned firmly.

The warm water trickled out of his head, the cornflower blue leached out of his eyelids, and the physical sensations his body was feeling came back into sharp focus.

Keith felt a periodic sharp sting against his skin - they were stitching back up the hole they’d carved into him. 

Deeper in his body, the dull pinch inflated into an awful ache. It felt like they’d opened him up and taken an egg beater to his insides.

 _It’ll be over soon, it’ll be over soon_ he chanted to himself.

The sharp stings stopped, and he heard a snip.

_“-From straining to much.”_

_“Go ahead and undo them and take away the tray. We’ll just lock him in, he’ll hardly be able to move like this.”_

The belts holding him down on the table fell away and Keith felt blood rush back into areas where the circulation had been cut off by how tightly he’d been strapped down.

Keith lay in a pained haze as the medics continued to bustle around him, manipulating his body so they could layer bandages around his belly. Every movement they forced him to make _hurt_ but he forced himself to remain limp and lifeless. Maybe if they thought he was unconscious they’d leave him unbound…

After they were done, they left him alone, locking him in the room with an electronic beep.

He lay still for some minutes, his breath stuttering unevenly, whole body trembling.

He needed to get out of here, he needed more than anything to not be here anymore. All the fear and pain and panic the presence had been distracting him from rushed back, slamming into his brain with the force of a hammer now that he was alone.

Keith rolled himself off of the metal bench. The pain of hitting the floor was so bad he saw stars, and he had to lay in a gasping huddle for a few more minutes to let his vision clear. He ripped the oxygen mask off his face and let it fall to the floor.

As soon as he was able to, he struggled to his feet, panic and pain rendering his movements jerky and clumsy.

He caught sight of the vent Lance and Pidge had climbed through and he immediately fixated on it.

Keith was leaving through that vent if it killed him.

He staggered over to it on shaky legs, dragging the IV drip bag that was on wheels with him as he went. The wires for the other machines he was hooked up to were long enough to reach without tugging.

He fell against the wall, breathing hard; just getting across the room had taken a lot out of him and it was taking everything he had not to let his knees buckle. He knew that if he allowed himself to fall, he might never get back up.

He gripped the cover of the air vent with shaky hands, slipping his fingers between the slots for purchase, and pulled.

Nothing happened. He wasn’t strong enough to just pull the cover off.

He needed something to give him leverage…

The IV pole -- that could work.

He roughly pulled the needle out of his arm and discarded the IV bag and tube on the floor. 

He shoved the rounded end of the pole in between the slats of the vent, and pushed down using his body weight.

The vent popped off and Keith managed to catch it before it clattered to the floor, although the motion twisted his torso and made him pant and hiss in pain.

He clambered half way into the vent before realizing that he was still hooked up to half a dozen machines, their wires tangling and clinging to his skin, impeding his movement.

Would they notice when his vitals suddenly went dead as he pulled the sticky pads off his skin?

Keith didn’t care, he was frantic with the need to just _get out_ of there.

He tore clumsily at the wires, shoving them out of the vent back into the room.

He pulled the heart monitor off last, before propping the cover over the opening behind him and making his way deeper into the vent.  

At first he managed to keep moving at a relatively quick pace, mostly because of the terror still thrumming through his veins, urging him onward in case they noticed he was gone and decided to give chase, but then the adrenaline wore off leaving him with just pain and fear.

He could feel his own blood soaking through the bandage, making him light headed; all the movement was not good for the structural integrity of the stitches.

Every few meters he crawled he needed to stop for a minute to catch his breath, but then the terror would well up, forcing him to start moving again as soon as he was physically capable.

He could hardly see because it was dark, and he barely remembered which way Lance had led him the day before, but eventually he somehow found himself in the same dead end that opened up to the outside.

At least he thought it was, the cover was still on the vent but he could just make out the darkened sky between the gaps.

That was when he realized that he wouldn’t be able to get out. He didn’t think he could stand up, let alone pull himself out.

He was trapped in a tiny dark space and no one knew where he was. He was probably going to bleed out and die in here.

Keith slumped to the side, wrapping his arms around himself partly because he was cold, but mostly because he felt like he might shake apart if he didn’t hold himself together.

His arms became slick with blood where they were clamped down over his abdomen; he had bled clean through the bandages.

Everything _hurt,_ and he couldn’t move, he felt so _weak_. So alone.

When tears started dripping down his face he didn’t even try to talk himself out of it like he usually did.

He had just resigned himself to dying, _again_ , when a familiar voice floated into the vent from outside.

“You come here to rock out?” Lance, that was Lance’s voice.

Someone shrieked in shock and Keith recognized that it was Pidge.   

“Oh, Lance, Hunk. No, I’m just… looking at the stars?”

What were they doing here? Where they actually here, or was Keith hallucinating from blood loss?

“Where did you get this stuff? It doesn’t look like Garrison tech.”

Without really deciding to, Keith lifted a shaky hand and knocked on the side of the vent - one long tap, three short ones, and another long one.

“Did you guys hear that?!” squeaked Hunk.

“Hear what?”

“Lance? H-Hunk? Pidge?” Keith called as loudly as he could, which wasn’t very loud because all he could do was rasp; his voice was wrecked from screaming.

“Okay I heard that too. It came from that aircon unit over there,” said Lance.

Keith heard approaching footsteps.

“Why are you doing going _towards_ the creepy sound! Don’t you actually watch horror movies? I mean _, I_ don’t _,_ but even I know that horror movie 101 for staying alive is _don’t_ walk towards creepy disembodied sounds!”

“Relax Hunk,” Lance was right by the unit.

“In here,” Keith choked out as loudly as he could.

“Hunk, come help me carry that crate over so we can reach up high enough to get off the lid. I think there’s someone in there!”

“Let it be noted that I have a bad feeling about this…”

Keith heard shuffling and the scrape of wood over concrete. The lid of the aircon unit shifted with a screech, and suddenly Keith could see the sky properly. That was nice. It was must less dark with the moonlight streaming in.

Lance let out a yelp of shock.

“Keith?” he exclaimed.

Hunk’s head appeared beside Lance’s.

“Oh my goodness _it_ is Keith!”

Keith could only blink back up at them.

“What are you doing in there?” asked Lance.

“Escaping,” Keith muttered weakly.

Lance and Hunk looked at each other.

“Do you want a hand getting out buddy?” called Hunk.

Did he? Is that what he had gotten their attention for? Well, he certainly wasn’t going anywhere by himself. Keith nodded.

“Could you stand and reach up?”

Keith felt like he might die if he unwound his arms from around his middle, or tried to move, so he shook his head.

“Hunk, gimmie a hand, I’ll climb down and boost him, you pull him out.”

To Keith it felt like he blinked, and then Lance was crouched in front of him, rendering the small space in the air vent extremely full.

“Shit, you’re _crying_. What’s the matter? Scared of the dark? Claustrophobia?” 

Keith shook his head.

Lance laid a hot hand against his cheek, wiping away some of the wetness in a surprisingly tender motion which belied the teasing tone of his question.

“You’re _freezing!_ ” he exclaimed in surprise. Lance seemed to take a moment to collect himself, and then he was all business.

“Right, let’s get you standing up so Hunk can pull you out,” he said firmly.

Keith felt Lance grip one of his forearms where it was clasped tightly across his abdomen.

“You’re going to have to uncurl dude if you want me to help you out,” he explained, tugging Keith’s arm a little.

Keith couldn’t suppress the pained whine that worked its way out of his throat.

“Are you alright man?”

“No,” replied Keith miserably.

Lance gripped both his arms gently and drew them away from his middle slowly. Keith hissed in pain, but allowed it to happen. Lance was right, if he wanted to get out of the vent he had to let go.

Lance’s shocked gasp was loud in the small space between them.

“Is that- _Jesus_ , what happened to you?!” Lance probably meant the question rhetorically, but a truthful answer fell out of Keith’s lips anyway. He couldn’t control it.

“They-they h-hurt m-me,” he stuttered, and he could feel more words bubbling up that he couldn’t control but he didn’t want to think about what happened, didn’t want to say, because with those words he could feel a rising hysteria, and his breathing was getting faster and faster and-

“Hey hey, it’s okay you don’t have to talk about it,” said Lance hurriedly, “Let’s just focus on getting you out,” he soothed.

Very slowly, Lance looped his arms under Keith’s armpits and lifted him to his feet. Despite the gentleness of the movement, it still hurt, and Keith couldn’t repress a whimper.  

“Hunk, when you pull him up be very careful, he’s hurt,” Lance called, making Keith put his arms up over his head for Hunk to reach.

He felt Hunk’s large hand grip both his wrists, and then he was being lifted.

It was _agony_.

He _screamed_ and the world boiled down to the wound under the bandage. It was on _fire._ He was barely cognizant of what was happening around him after that, Hunk and Lance’s panicked shouting passing passively through his ears without him really comprehending.

_“Don’t drop him Hunk!”_

_“B-but he’s screaming!”_

_“Just pull him out!”_

The pain intensified, it felt like he was being torn apart.

“It _hurts_ , p-please stop it-” he choked out.

There was a moment where he felt weightless, then the awful tearing pain stopped and he could think again.

Hunk was gripping him by the shoulders, keeping him upright, and they were outside by the vent.

“I am so _so_ sorry Keith! I wasn’t trying to hurt you I promise!” Hunk’s dark eyes were shiny with tears, his face crumpled in guilt. 

His eyes flicked downwards, and the moment he caught sight of the bloody bandage the color leached out of his face.

“PidgecomehereIneedyoutotakehimI’mgonna _hurl_.”

As soon as Pidge appeared by Keith’s elbow, Hunk was stumbling away to throw up.

Keith knees buckled. To Pidge’s credit, she _did_ try to catch him, but he was too heavy so they both went down.

That was how he found himself lying on the floor with his head in Pidge’s lap, blinking up at her face, Hunk retching off to the side loudly.

“He’s really squeamish,” explained Pidge.

Keith shivered; he was cold. Cold and in pain. Cold and in pain and _exhausted_.    

He let his eyes drift closed…

“ _Don’t fall asleep!”_

Somehow Lance was kneeling in front of him; he must have pulled himself out of the vent.

Keith groaned at the realization that he was pressing something down onto his wound - his olive green jacket. The pressure felt _awful,_ but it make him snap back to wakefulness like Lance had tapped him with a livewire.

“That _h-hurts_ , stop it,” he choked out. 

“Sorry no can do, you’ll bleed out and die if I stop. Hunk get over here! You need to carry him!”

Suddenly an alarm sounded, and a voice boomed over the loudspeakers.

“ _Attention, student. This is not a drill. We are on lockdown! Security situation Zulu Niner. Repeat: all students are to remain in barracks until further notice.”_

Keith’s first thought was that they were looking for him. They knew he escaped and they were going to burst onto the roof like yesterday and shoot Hunk Lance and Pidge for helping him.

But then Hunk said; “Is that a meteor? A very, very big meteor?” and Keith realized that it was later than he thought; _Shiro_ was arriving.

From his position on the ground with Pidge above him and Lance across from him Keith couldn’t see much, just a flash of light out of the corner of his eye.

“It's a ship!” cried Pidge.

“Holy crow! I can't believe what I'm seeing! That's not one of ours!” cried Lance.

A moment later there was the earth-shattering boom of impact, and then the explosion lit up the night sky for a brief moment of effulgence. It was hard to believe that anyone could survive such a violent landing.

“It’s Shiro,” said Keith.

Three heads turned to look at him, Pidge from above, Lance from across his lap, and Hunk off to the side.

“Shiro, as in Takashi Shirogane? Pilot of the Kerberos Mission?” clarified Pidge.

“ _Yes_.”

“Okay he must be delusional from blood-loss or pain. I’m pretty sure I’m done throwing up literally everything I’ve eaten today so I think I can stomach carrying him, let’s get him down to the infirmary,” said Hunk, walking closer.

“Nonono, not there,” he was _not_ going back anywhere near any Garrison medic ever again in his life if he could help it.

“Keith, you’re bleeding out! You need medical attention!” Lance snapped.

“W-who do you think did this to m-me?” Keith huffed shakily through gritted teeth.

“The Garrison med-techs did this?” asked Pidge.

“Research team,” Keith confirmed.

“ _Why?!_ ” she squeaked.

“For research? I guess? They don’t think I’m human.”

“Are you saying they dissected you like a fucking science experiment?!” spat Lance, appalled.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter right now. You guys need to take me down to the crash site,” He was pleased to find that now that he was laying down and not moving, it was easier to keep his voice steady.

“ _What?!_ No! Absolutely not! We’re taking you to the nearest hospital-” said Lance.

Keith sighed. It was time to test what they’d told him.

“Pidge, your dad is Samuel Holt. Your brother is Matt Holt-” Pidge’s eyes widened in shock but before she could say anything Keith was already speaking again, “-Hunk, if you had to eat only one food you’d pick a burrito, and Lance, your favorite food is garlic knots from Valabema beach.”

“ _Varadero_  beach,” Lance corrected automatically in perfect Spanish.

“How did you know that?!” demanded Pidge.

“Wait, what he said was _true?_ Samuel Holt is your _father_? Matt Holt is your _brother_?” cried Lance.

“Lance, we both know that what he said about _us_ is true. The question is how on earth did he find out?” reasoned Hunk.

Three sets of eyes stared at him expectantly.

“I’m stuck in a time-loop and you guys told me that stuff yesterday so you’d believe me today.”

Pidge jostled his head in a mad scramble to move one of her arms.

“How many fingers am I holding up!?

“Yesterday you said three.”

“That’s right…” said Pidge in astonishment.

"That's hardly impressive Pidge, he had a one in five chance of just guessing lucky," said Lance churlishly.

“So do you?” prompted Keith.

“Do we what?” asked Lance.

“Do you believe me? Will you help me get down to the crash site?” Keith was impatient. Already there were Garrison vehicles rushing across the desert, their headlights tiny pinpricks of light in the distance. They would reach Shiro first.

“Hang on a hot minute, even if we believe you, that doesn’t automatically follow that we’ll take you down there. You need serious medical attention! If we’re taking you anywhere, it should be to _the hospital_!” cried Lance.   

“You said the ship was Shiro. What about the rest of the crew?” demanded Pidge. Keith sensed that she was wavering in favor of what he wanted so he pushed.

“If you take me down there, we can ask him.”

“No. Nononono, absolutely not,” cut in Lance.

“I agree with Lance, we gotta take him to the hospital,” said Hunk.

“What about my dad and my brother!?” cried Pidge angrily.

“What about the fact that the Garrison gutted Keith like a fish, and he’ll bleed out and die if we don’t do something!”

“It doesn’t matter,” piped up Keith.

“What the heck do you mean it doesn’t matter?! _My hands are literally covered in your blood dude!_ ”

“Shiro isn’t the only one arriving. They get attacked by these alien monsters.”

“Well what are _you_ going to do against them?!” asked Lance.

“Yeah no offense man, but you probably can’t even walk at the moment,” chimed in Hunk.

“I just need to check. I warned Iverson earlier today that they needed to mobilize the fighter jets. I need to know if he does or not.”

If he didn't, then Keith would need to reset. Again.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” declared Pidge imperiously, “Hunk, you can take Keith to the hospital. Lance and I will go to the crash site. We’ll stay in contact via our coms.”

Keith hated this plan immediately. Firstly, because he couldn’t think straight enough in his foggy mental state to pick any flaws in it, and secondly because Lance would probably get himself killed somehow.

“Er, we have one last problem. The Garrison is on lockdown sooo all the doors will be locked,” said Hunk.

“Don’t worry guys, I got this,” Keith could hear the smirk in Pidge’s voice.

 

* * *

 

Keith was right in thinking that Hunk looked like he could bench press five of him. He made lifting _one_ of him look as easy as lifting a kitten, but that didn’t make it not hurt like a bitch.

“I’m so sorry!” Hunk squeaked when Keith couldn’t hold back a groan.

“I’m fine. S’fine,” he forced out through clenched teeth. Lance tucked his jacket across Keith’s middle, forcing him to apply pressure with one arm, while his other arm looped around Hunk’s massive shoulders.

If he wasn’t in so much pain and discomfort he would have felt ridiculous being carried like he was princess in a fairy tale.

Hunk did his best not to jostle him, but every step he took he made searing heat flare across his wound.

Keith gritted his teeth against it because he didn’t want Hunk to start crying about hurting him again.

Their journey through the Garrison was a blur of shadows and agony for Keith.

Pidge somehow produced a key-card that opened every door they came across, allowing them to creep unhindered through the hallways.

Keith was so focused on keeping quiet, on gritting his teeth through the pain, that he was taken by surprise when they finally arrived outside.

“How are we gonna do this? Pidge and I can probably walk to the crash site; it didn’t look too far away, but the nearest hospital is in town and you can’t walk there carrying him,” said Lance.

“My hover-bike,” suggested Keith, “Red one. Parked it just beyond the Garrison Boundary, under the dead tree.”

“You mean the _kissing_ -tree,” said Lance.

_Kissing-tree? What the fuck?_

“No. It’s _dead,_ ” Keith insisted.

“Well yeah, but everyone _calls_ it the kissing-tree,” explained Lance.  

Keith was still confused.

“But… its dead? Not kissing?”

Lance snorted.

“I can’t believe ace pilot Keith Kogane doesn’t know about the kissing-tree,” crowed Lance gleefully.

“Lance, he’s in pain and bleeding out. Must you antagonise him?” said Hunk, giving Lance a long suffering look.  

“Alright, alright. I know where he means, it’s this way.”

They followed Lance’s lead.  

“Uhh, problem: I’ve never driven a hover-bike before. I don’t know how,” admitted Hunk as they walked.

“S’ok. I can drive,” assured Keith.

“Uh-uh no way. I bet you couldn’t even grip the handle bars like this _. I_ can drive,” declared Lance.

“But you’ve never driven before,” said Keith.

“How do you know?!” snapped Lance defensively.

“You told me?”

“Well I’m a pilot, I can figure it out!”

Keith couldn’t hold back the weak chuckles that erupted from his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Lance suspiciously.

“D-déjà vu,” answered Keith giddily. His was feeling very dizzy and lightheaded, the blood-loss was hitting him hard now.

“Ok in that case slight change of plan, Lance you take Keith on his hover-bike to the hospital, Hunk and I will go check out the crash site,” said Pidge decisively.

“Aw man,” sighed Hunk dejectedly.

“What are you complaining about? You get to go see an alien space ship while I’m stuck taking mullet-face to the doctor.”

“I’d rather go to a hospital than an alien crash site any day.”

“Ya know Hunk, for someone enrolled to study space travel, you really don’t have much of a sense of adventure,” said Lance.

“ _Or,”_ injected Keith, “W-we can a-all get on my bike and c-check it out t-together,” he forced out weakly through chattering teeth. He was cold again; his strength was flagging. 

Nobody deigned his suggestion with a reply.

When they arrived at his bike and Hunk set him down gently on the seat, Keith had to admit that he probably couldn’t drive. Sitting upright made him even more unbearably dizzy.

He slumped forwards against Lance’s back gratefully when the other boy straddled the bike in front of him. Keith shivered. Lance was warm.

“You gotta hold on mullet-face,” he said, drawing Keith’s limp arms around his waist. Keith did his best to do as Lance said. He just felt so very weak and listless…

“We’ll take this nice and easy, you think you’re gonna fall off or pass out tell me and I’ll stop.”

Hunk Pidge and Lance worked out the logistics of contacting each other when they reached their respective destinations, and then they went their separate ways.

 

* * *

 

 Keith must have dozed off, or passed out, or zoned out, or _something_ because the next thing he was aware of was Lance yelling something that vaguely sounded like an expletive in Spanish, and then they were swerving to a stop and Lance was crushing his forearms in a white-knuckle grip.

“Keith you need to hold on to me or you’ll fall off! We’re nearly there man, just hold on!”

Keith just felt so drained. There was no more fear or adrenaline keeping him going anymore. He was so _so_ cold…

Lance’s coms device started ringing shrilly.

He let go of Keith with one hand to dig it out of his pocket. He turned in his seat slightly, allowing Keith to slump against his shoulder, and fumbled to answer the call.

“Hunk?”

_“Lance! T-they’re g-getting massacred b-by these things a-and there’s n-nothing we can do-”_

“ _What!?_ Hunk! Slow down-”

Keith’s heart sunk. Iverson obviously didn’t listen, and Hunk’s next words confirmed it. 

_“T-they had Shiro, Pidge h-hacked their feed. T-they drugged him. T-there aren’t any fighter jets. Oh god, Pidge don’t!”_

There was a muffled clattering sound, as if Hunk had dropped the device. Keith heard that awful familiar screeching cry, and he couldn’t help but flinch against Lance’s shoulder.

There came a series of terrified yells, a drawn out scream of pain, and then the line went dead.

There was silence between Lance and Keith for a moment.

“Keith what do we do?” asked Lance eventually, sounding painfully small.

“Let me die.”

_“What?!”_

“Let me reset,” Keith amended, “Day’ll r-reset if I die.”

He could feel death coming for him again already, he was losing too much blood through broken stitches.

“ _No!_ I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Keith let himself go completely limp, letting Lance’s jacket fall away from the wound. He tipped sideways, and would have fallen heavily onto the hard ground if Lance didn’t grab his arm.

He groaned in pain, the strain of Lance pulling his arm putting more pressure on his stitches, and his vision whited out as something finally _snapped_. 

He might have screamed.

The next thing he knew he was lying on the ground with Lance’s anxious face looming above him.

“No Keith! You _asshole_ , don’t give up like this!” he shouted on the verge of panic.

“T-this’ll be the f-first time I don’t d-die super violently,” muttered Keith weakly.

“Shut up! Don’t talk like that, you’ll be okay! We just need to get you back on the bike and I’ll take you to the hospital and everything will be fine!”

The last thing Keith saw was Lance’s frightened face hovering above him, blue eyes wet, and then everything went dark.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew that took a while to write, hopefully that fact that its super long can make up for that :) 
> 
> If you feel like leaving me feedback I would greatly appreciate it! Like, so much! lol
> 
> Things I'm keen to get feedback on in particular if you're feeling verbose:
> 
> Did Keith pretending to be Lance make you laugh?  
> What did you think of Iverson?  
> How bout the shady research team and shady Garrison insurance dealings?  
> Was I too mean to Keith?  
> Did they stay in character?
> 
> Ask questions if you like or if anything didn't make sense.
> 
> Also! I changed the first chapter a bit, doesn't change the story so you don't need to go back and reread to understand what's going on, I just fleshed it out a bit more if you'd like to check that out :)


	5. Reset 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith thinks he’s fine, and goes back to the Garrison to try again. He isn’t fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for panic attacks and mild homophobia
> 
> Also, I've changed chapter 1 a little bit for continuity sake. If you can't be bothered going back to read it again (which is totally fair enough haha), I'll summarize the salient points in the author's note at the end. :)

**Reset 53**

Keith’s hands went immediately to his abdomen upon waking. He curled on his side into a tight ball and screwed his eyes shut.

 _You’re fine you’re fine you’re fine_ he chanted to himself mentally.

He probably wasn’t fine, but he couldn’t let himself fall apart. It was just harder this morning to pick himself up because the events of the previous day were only properly hitting him now.

Yesterday he’d been so out of it that he hadn’t really registered how he felt beyond _pain_ and _fear_ , but now…

Now he was squeezing himself to try and stop shaking because Iverson didn’t listen to him.

They’d laid him out on that table and cut him open, done god knows what to his insides, and it was all for nothing because Iverson _didn’t fucking listen to him._

Keith didn’t want to set foot in the Garrison ever again.

Just the thought made his heart beat faster and his breath quicken, and not in a nice way, but he _would_ go back because he _had_ to.

Giving up wasn’t an option, everyone’s lives were riding on him. He couldn’t afford to be weak.

He knew that if he allowed himself to be weak, it was tantamount to allowing himself to get hurt.

He’d worked really hard to crush everything vulnerable, everything that had ever been soft about himself.

Keith wasn’t the little kid that had been abandoned by his parents anymore, he’d honed himself into a weapon and he wouldn’t _let_ himself be weak.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he told the tiny green lizard with a great deal more convection than he actually felt.

 

* * *

 

Although the view of the Garrison hadn’t exactly made Keith feel warm and fuzzy on the inside since he’d been kicked out, never before had the sight of a place instilled Keith with such _dread_.

The Garrison was supposed to be a gleaming bastion of scientific inquiry coupled with military precision, all wrapped up in an ultra-modern facility with all the bells and whistles. Now, all Keith could think about when he looked at it was that one tiny dark room where they’d strapped him down on a metal bench…

He broke out into a sweat when he parked his bike under the dead tree, (‘ _kissing-tree_ ,’ his mind supplied in Lance’s voice, which was stupid because the tree was quite shrivelled up and dry and just _dead_ ) and his hands shook as he approached the entrance.  

He robotically repeated the magic words from the day before that made the guards let him pass, and then he was inside.

This time around he knew Iverson was watching the flight simulator, so he forced himself to walk in that direction.

It felt like his heart was pounding harder and louder the closer he got to his intended destination. His legs felt like lead, but despite dragging his feet more and more the closer he got to the simulator classroom, he eventually arrived.

As he stood outside staring in through the glass, Keith clenched his fists to still his trembling fingers, and made himself focus on what was happening in the room.

Pidge, Lance, and Hunk were inside the simulator; he could see the students clustered around a screen watching their progress.

It wasn’t going well at all.

Hunk threw up in the main gear box, Pidge unbuckled her safety harness and fell out of her seat, and then Lance flew the side of ship into a cliff face and lost a wing.

Keith was genuinely surprised that their jump went so terribly. Technically he already knew that it went badly because he had heard Iverson ripping into them the day before so he wasn’t _shock_ shocked, he was more surprised that it had gone so badly considering what had learned about them as individuals over the course of the resets.

He was surprised because he _knew_ they could do better; he _knew_ they could work well together as a team. They’d done it to save him once.

Iverson himself called them out of the simulator machine once the jump was pronounced a fail, and Keith could see they were doing a peer critique, where fellow students offered feedback.

Keith had always hated this part because it invariably ended up with him standing in front of his classmates awkwardly while the instructor lavished him with praise and told everyone else they should be more like him.

It was hard to make friends when you were put up on pedestal like that. Not that Keith needed or wanted friends, he was used to being alone… friendly acquaintances might have been nice though.

Keith was jolted out of his musings when the student from the day before brushed past him to enter the simulator room, followed closely by the other two students in his group.

That was Keith’s cue to follow, but he didn’t.

Suddenly, he _couldn’t._

A powerful wave of dread overcame him, and he found himself rooted to the spot; rendered immobile. It was as if suddenly his boots had filled with cement.

It was the same feeling he’d successfully ignored when he had parked his hover-bike outside, only he couldn’t ignore it now because it was jacked up to an intensity so high that it drowned out his ability to think clearly.

His breath caught in his throat at the very idea of entering that room, and even though he was internally screaming at himself to just _move_ , he couldn’t he couldn’t he _couldn’t_ \--

\--And then the door slid shut and his window of opportunity closed.

What was wrong with him?

Keith’s heart was beating so hard and fast it felt like it might fall out of his chest. He couldn’t get enough air even though he was sucking in breaths faster and faster.

His vision was narrowing, he felt _sick_ to his stomach. He needed to leave. He wasn’t safe. _Nowhere_ was safe.

Keith stumbled away. Where was he going? What was he doing? He was exposed out here in the corridor, anyone could come by and turn him in to the research team and then they would strap him down and-

Oh god, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk hadn’t come to save him last time. What if the presence abandoned him too? It helped him once, but there was no guarantee it would help a second time.

If he was stupid enough to allow himself to get caught a third time, why should it help him?

 _You can’t have expectations that someone will be there for you Keith. Everyone always leaves. You_ know _this. You’re alone and you’ll always be alone alone alone._

Through his blurry vision, (when had his eyes filled?) Keith made out a door, and made a beeline for it.

It was a bathroom. He locked himself in a cubicle with clumsy fingers and sank down heavily on the downturned toilet-seat.

Keith shoved his head between his legs, and willed himself to calm down.

_I’m here._

The presence nudged the edge of his consciousness. It felt like warm waves slowly lapping against the boundaries of his mind; it felt like _reassurance._ Comfort.

Keith tried to match his breathing to the tempo of the tide.

Eventually his heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out.

_Find me._

Keith let out a breathless chuckle.

_One track mind as always. Thank you, Blue._

Keith knew from experience that naming things was a bad idea. Naming things led to attachment, and attachment had always led to bitter disappointment for Keith, but continuing to call the presence ‘ _the presence’_ after everything that had happened seemed… churlish.  

Blue was a fitting moniker in lieu of its real name (if it _had_ a real name) seeing as they were always filling his head with water and sending him those snippets of cornflower blue.

It would be nice if he could stay locked in this tiny cubicle and never face the monsters again, but there were things he needed to do. Things only he could do.

“Pick yourself up and do what’s necessary. Patience yields focus,” he whispered to himself, and then he unlocked the cubicle and stepped out.

He splashed some water on his face in an attempt to gain some equanimity, and looked into the shiny mirror.

Keith was almost surprised to find that he looked so normal, it had been awhile since he’d stared at his own reflection for any extended length of time.

His eyes were a little red, but aside from that he looked just the same as he always did; inky hair that brushed the top of his shoulders, large angular eyes that were so dark they looked black, pale skin despite the fact that he lived in the desert and spent a great deal of time in the sun.

Maybe he looked a little older, the line of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones slightly sharper.

It was hard to believe that physically he had nothing to show for everything he had been through. No scars, marks or blemishes remained from any of the times he had died.

He sighed and steeled himself to leave the relative safety of the bathroom to seek out Iverson once more.

He reached for the door handle, but then someone burst in forcefully from the other side and crashed into him, sending them both staggering.

“ _You!_ ” the person spat venomously, “What the cheese are _you_ doing here drop out?”  

Keith looked up to see that it was _Lance_ who had entered. He was out of his flight suit and back in his Garrison uniform.

He stared at Keith with open hostility.

Keith could only stare back gormlessly for a moment because once again, Lance’s capricious mood was giving him whiplash.

How was this boy - glaring at him so hatefully - the same person who had wiped tears off his face and insisted they take him to the hospital?

“Are you even allowed to be here? You aren’t a student anymore, you washed out, you _can’t_ come back,” Lance sounded slightly desperate.  

“I’m not coming back,” said Keith.

“Then why are you here?” Lance’s tone made it sound like _you shouldn’t be here_.

“I need your help,” said Keith bluntly. Maybe it was time to take Pidge up on her offer. He’d tried fixing this himself and failed miserably too many times to count, maybe a fresh set of eyes would help.

If he didn’t want to wander around the Garrison hoping he’d bump into her, he’d need Lance to tell him where she was.

“Why would _I_ help _you_?” sneered Lance, words dripping disdain.

Keith was taken aback by how much Lance’s overt contempt _hurt_. Keith immediately chastised himself internally for feeling that way, he should have known better.

He _knew_ Lance didn’t really know him, didn’t remember what they had been through together.

He _knew_ he was difficult to like.

Keith could never quite grasp the unsaid nuances of conversation and interactions that other people seemed to just know instinctively.

He had an unfortunate propensity for saying the exact wrong thing always, and he was self-aware enough to acknowledge that he was prickly, he had some walls up.  

He felt like he was lacking some essential element in his makeup for drawing others to himself, and in light of Iverson’s revelations, maybe what he was missing, what he’d _always_ been missing, was something innately _human_.

Was that why he’d never been able to connect to people? Could they tell, no matter how hard he tried, that he wasn’t quite _right_?

After watching Lance and the others die over and over, he couldn’t help feel… _something_ for them. Maybe it was responsibility? He just wanted them to be okay.

He felt supremely foolish for thinking that maybe Lance could feel a modicum of camaraderie for him in return. He should have known, Lance seemed only able to stand Keith’s presence was when he was actively dying.

So Keith reacted the way he always did when he felt bad; with _anger_.

“What is your problem with me Lance?!” he shouted.

It was Lance’s turn to look taken aback, but he recovered quickly.

“Your stupid mullet!” he retorted.

What the _fuck_ was up with Lance’s fixation on his hair? It wasn’t even a proper mullet! It was long all over! Maybe the back was _slightly_ longer, but Keith preferred it that way because it stopped the back of his neck getting sunburnt, okay!

_Why was it such a problem!_

“ _Fine_ ,” intoned Keith, deadly calm. The kind of calm he got when he actively decided to do something that he _knew_ was impulsive and reckless and stupid.  

He reached back to gather the longer strands of hair brushing the nape of his neck into low ponytail, holding it in place with a tightly clenched fist.

He pulled out his dagger in a fluid motion, and Lance gasped in shock.

“Woah! _Keith,_ what are you-”

Keith ignored Lance, and sliced upwards, severing the gathered ponytail clean off, close to the skin.

Locks of black hair fell, littering the bathroom floor in inky black lashes. His dagger shook in his grip, and Keith recognised that _maybe_ he was reacting a little hysterically.

“I can’t believe you did that,” exclaimed Lance faintly.

“Do we still have a problem?” Keith challenged.

“Just, put the knife down…” Lance was staring at him wide-eyed like he was unhinged, hands raised in front of himself as if to ward Keith off. He looked… _afraid_. Quite suddenly all of the anger and hurt drained out of Keith like a popped balloon.

He lowered his knife from where he had been unknowingly brandishing it at Lance.

“I-I’m, I didn’t mean to…” he stuttered, struggling to explain himself.

Lance still looked incredibly unnerved.

“That’s okay,” he said in a placating tone, “How about you put the knife down and we can go find an instructor to speak to-”

“ _No!_ ”

Lance flinched. Keith didn’t mean to shout.

“Look Keith, you seem a bit on edge, just let me go get someone who can help-” Lance reached back to grip the handle of the door blindly, keeping his eyes focused on Keith.

The dread was back.

Lance was going to turn him in. They would strap him down and hurt him again, and there was nothing he could do about it because he couldn’t hurt Lance.

…He could hurt _himself_ though. He could reset right now and try again.

He adjusted his grip on his knife and pulled up his sleeve as if he were in a trance...

Lance was speaking to him still, but Keith was no longer listening. If he did this, then the dread would go away and they wouldn’t be able to catch him.  

He barely flinched as he jabbed the blade into the fleshy part of his upper forearm, intending to draw the blade downward towards his wrist. It would be as easy as cutting his hair had been; the blade was wickedly sharp. He took good care of it.

Before he could complete the motion, Lance was there.     

Lance grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the dagger and slammed it against the wall beside Keith’s head with surprising force.

He pinned Keith against the wall with his body weight as if he were afraid that Keith would struggle against him.

“Drop the knife Keith. _Now_ ,” his tone brooked no argument. He _squeezed_ Keith’s wrist and shook it until the dagger slipped out of his grip and clattered to the ground.   

“What the _FUCK!_ _Why did you do that_!?” Lance sounded livid.

Keith couldn’t speak. Everything was _too much._ His legs gave out and he sank to the floor in a nerveless puddle.

Lance knelt in front of him, hurriedly shrugging off his jacket and muttering all the while under his breath in angry Spanish.

_“Ese tipo, me está jodiendo-”_

He grabbed Keith’s bleeding arm and pressed his wadded up jacket against the wound to stem the blood flow.

“Please don’t,” Keith managed to choke out eventually.

“Please don’t _what_ ? Please don’t let you _bleed out?_ I’m fucking working on that already,” snapped Lance in clipped tones.

“Please don’t t-tell them I’m here. _Please_ Lance, you can’t tell them, _please_ ,” Keith was vaguely aware that he was _begging_ , but he was too frightened to care. His breathing was getting messed up again, his heart was beating _so_ fast, he didn’t have his knife anymore, he couldn’t stop it if Lance decided to turn him in, it wasn’t _safe_ -

“L-Lance I-I can’t _breathe_ ,” he choked out mindlessly.  

“Oh, _shit_ , you’re having a panic attack.”

It felt like he was having a _heart_ attack. His chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice and he was so _so_ frightened. His eyes were tearing up again and Lance’s face was blurring in front of him. He should have been mortified, but there was no room in his brain for anything but fear and panic.

 _I’m dying, I’m dying, oh god I’m dying, I need it to stop stop_ stop-

“Okay, okay, um, there’s nothing to be afraid of Keith-”

Keith let out a choked hysterical laugh.

“Honestly, I won’t uh, tell anyone you’re here,” Lance insisted, “The way you’re feeling right now? It’s only temporary, okay-? You’ll be alright again very soon, I _promise_. My buddy Hunk has panic attacks all the time. Well, not all the time, just sometimes-”

Keith’s vision was narrowing. He wasn’t getting enough air, he felt _sick_ -

Lance laid a hot hand on his shoulder.

“I need you to _breathe,_ Keith. Can do you that for me? I’m going to count and you’re going to breathe in for four, and then out for four, okay?”

Keith found himself nodding, and desperately did his best do as Lance said.

“ _In_ , two, three, four, _out_ , two, three, four-”

An indeterminate amount of time passed, and Keith’s heartrate and breathing eventually slowed down to match the tempo Lance set.

Once he regained the ability to focus on something other than his misery, Keith noticed how _close_ Lance was.

Keith himself was sitting with his back against the wall, legs splayed out in front of him, and Lance was kneeling between them, close enough for Keith to notice the smattering of faint brown freckles across the bridge of Lance’s nose. Close enough for the smell of Lance’s body wash to be imprinted on his senses (was that _sandalwood?_ ), and to register that Lance’s eyes were the exact same shade of cornflower blue that the presence - Blue - sometimes sent him.

One of Lance’s hands was still pressing down firmly on the wound, and the other had migrated from Keith’s shoulder to lightly cup the back of his neck. The pressure was grounding, and Lance’s hand was warm.

“Your hair looks ridiculous like this,” Lance murmured with a frown, fingers brushing against the blunt tips of Keith’s hair.

“I-if it bothers you th-that much, _you_ cut it,” Keith tried to snap. He was trembling like a leaf, and he could feel tears still dripping down his cheeks, so it came out pathetic rather than fierce like he intended.

“Now that I’ve seen what you look like _without_ a mullet, I think maybe you were a little hasty in chopping it off after all.”

Keith tried to push Lance’s hands off him, tried to squirm away, because he was feeling so _raw_ and Lance _poking_ at him when he was feeling so _low_ made something awful twist in his belly, but the other boy refused to get out of his space, pinning him with embarrassing ease by planting his hand on Keith’s shoulder again.

“Hey, hey, hey, dude stop wriggling! I was only kidding! It helps Hunk when I make jokes…”

“Wasn’t f-funny. Just _mean_.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, no more jokes about your hair,” said Lance hastily.

He laid a hand against Keith’s cheek and Keith stilled.

“Just… tell me what you need to feel better,” Lance implored softly, wiping away some of the wetness with his thumb.  

“To _leave._ T-to not be in the Garrison anymore,” breathed Keith. He wanted more than anything to not be here anymore. He was no longer blind with panic, but what if it happened again? Keith honestly didn’t think his heart could survive, it’d give out and he would drop dead dead _dead._

“Okay, can you stand?” he felt nearly as dazed as he had after being tasered three times, except on top of that there was an overwhelming feeling of acute distress clouding his brain.

He nodded his head yes anyway.

Lance wordlessly helped him up, propping him up to lean against the wall.

He forced Keith to hold the jacket against his bleeding arm himself, before retrieving Keith’s dagger from the bathroom floor. Keith held out a shaking hand expectantly, and Lance just looked at him flatly.

“Yeah, _no_ , I’m gonna hold on to this. C’mon.”

Keith supposed that was fair enough, all things considered, although not having the familiar weight of the dagger on his person made him feel even more vulnerable, more _exposed_.

Lance kept a tight grip on Keith’s elbow and steered him quickly out of the bathroom and in a direction that Keith knew did _not_ lead to the outside. He dug in his heels, forcing Lance to stop and face him expectantly.

“Lance, y-you said you wouldn’t- where are we- I told you I can’t-”

“Keith, I can’t put you out with a _stab-wound,_ we’re going to my room. I’ll fetch a first aid kit, fix you up, and _then_ we’ll leave,” said Lance decisively.  

“We?” questioned Keith.

“ _Yes,_ we. You think I’m gonna leave you alone after that?”

“Um… _yes?_ ”

Keith was confused. Nothing Lance did or said ever made any sense.

“Keith, you just tried to-” Lance aborted whatever he was going to say, apparently overcome with some strong emotion.

“Look, you said you wanted my help. Let me help.”

“But-but you said-”

“ _I know what I said!_ ” Keith flinched involuntarily at Lance’s sharp tone. He looked hopelessly frustrated, running a hand agitatedly through his short hair.

“I know what I _said_ ,” repeated Lance with forced calm, “Forget about that and listen to what I’m saying now - _I’ll help you_.”

Keith was taken aback. He didn’t understand what had changed Lance’s mind and why he was suddenly being all… patient? Amenable? but he decided to take it at face value.   

“Alright,” he said, letting Lance lead him towards the students’ barracks.

 

* * *

 

Lance’s room was identical to the one Keith used to inhabit, and it was tidier than what he would have expected of Lance.

There was a single bed on one side, a desk pushed up against the other wall, a tiny wardrobe, and a tinier window.

The only difference between this room and Keith’s old room were Lance’s small personal touches, and Keith couldn’t help but catalogue them. It calmed him, having something to focus on.

The bedspread had green alien heads on a black background. There was a large photo frame on the desk, and Keith could see a crowd of olive skinned people of various ages huddled in close around a younger, softer, Lance in the picture. There was a cork-board hanging on the door of the wardrobe, pinned with polaroids and various bits of coloured paper.  

There were glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, and an old battered acoustic guitar leaning against the wall in one corner.

Lance pulled out his desk chair.

“Sit,” he intoned. Keith did so gingerly.

“Keep holding that, it’s still bleeding,” he ordered, pointing to where Keith had slackened his grip on his injured arm.   

“I’m going to go get a first aid kit. _Don’t_ touch my stuff while I’m gone.”

“Wait!” Keith called, just as Lance went to leave. He turned back to look at Keith expectantly.

“You-you aren’t going to get an instructor right? You won’t tell them I’m here?” Keith hated how small he sounded, but Lance’s expression softened.

“No Keith, it’s against my better judgement, but I won’t tell them you’re here. You’re _safe_.”

 

* * *

 

Lance returned with a green box which Keith presumed was a first aid kit a short while later.

He took a knee in front of Keith, and dumped the green box onto Keith’s lap, before undoing the latch and lifting the lid to rummage through it.

He pulled out some gauze and a bottle of something before holding out a hand expectantly, gesturing for Keith to give him his arm.

“I can do it myself, I’m not a baby,” grumbled Keith.

“Humour me,” said Lance humorlessly.

With a huff Keith held out his arm, and Lance pulled away his now ruined blood-stained jacket to take stock of the damage.

The incision was only about an inch wide, but it was pretty deep, and still bleeding freely.

Lance gripped his wrist gently with a warm hand to hold him still.

The sting of the antiseptic when Lance dabbed very gently at the wound didn’t bother Keith.

The astringent smell however _did,_ and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching away. Lance tightened his grip.

“Hold still, I know it stings but it has to be disinfected,” he said, oblivious to the way Keit'sh heart was once again quickening in his chest, screaming at him to get away.

Keith held his breath until Lance was satisfied that the cut was disinfected enough, and threw the gauze into his wastebasket.

He put some dressing over the cut, and then wrapped up the whole thing up tightly with a long white bandage.

Lance leaned back to admire his work once he was done, and he shot Keith a challenging look as if to say ‘bleed through _that_ , I dare you.’

Lance closed the first aid kit, lifted it from Keith’s lap, and stood to put it on his desk.

“You can’t go out wearing that,” said Lance suddenly, examining Keith’s too-small Garrison jacket critically, “No offence, but it looks _ridiculous_ and you got blood all over the sleeve. Wanna borrow a hoodie?”

“Um…”

Lance had already padded away to rifle through his closet, before pulling out something and throwing it at Keith’s head.

“Here, put this on.”

Keith struggled a little to get out of his too-small jacket, having to contort his torso to squeeze his arms out. Lance had thrown a well-worn black hoodie at him. It had a NASA logo printed on the front, faded with age, and the soft fabric smelled comfortingly familiar to Keith; of the fabric softener the Garrison laundry used.   

It was a little baggy, but it was supremely comfortable.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“So, now you wanna get out of here?”

Keith nodded and stood quickly. Too quickly, he stumbled and Lance had to grab his shoulders to steady him.  

That was the moment someone burst in through Lance’s door with no warning.

“Hey Lance, are you-”

It was Hunk, already changed into casual attire. His eyes widened dramatically as he took in Lance and Keith.

“-here… _huh_.”  

Lance removed his hands from where they had steadied Keith as if Keith had scalded him and stepped back.

“I guess this isn’t totally unexpected,” muttered Hunk to himself. Keith frowned, what wasn’t totally unexpected?

“This isn’t what it looks like!” Lance cried frantically.

Keith… didn’t understand at all.

_What does it look like?_

“Are you sure?” asked Hunk.

“ _Yes._ Look, we’re going out for a bit so if you’ll excuse us-”

“Wait!”

Lance and Hunk turned to look at him.

“Can you come with us Hunk?” Keith blurted.

“Uh, where are you guys going?”

Keith hadn’t thought that far.

“The Big Dipper Diner?” suggested Lance.

“Pidge. We have to take Pidge too,” said Keith.

He wouldn’t be able to think clearly until he wasn’t in the Garrison anymore, and for some reason he felt like he _needed_ Lance, Hunk, and Pidge to be with him.  

They were reoccurring fixtures of these resets, and Lance’s volatile mood aside, they had always helped him.  Keith _needed_ help; he was out of ideas.

Nothing he tried worked; it was time to concede defeat and try this thing from a different angle.

“I dunno, it’ll be curfew soon…” hedged Hunk.

“Not for like, four hours,” countered Lance.

“ _Please_ Hunk, I really need your help,” said Keith earnestly.

“Uhhh…” Hunk’s eyes flicked at something over Keith’s shoulder, and when Keith turned to see what had captured his attention, he caught Lance in the middle of some action he couldn’t decipher. Lance immediately froze when he noticed Keith had caught him though, and stretched exaggeratedly.

Keith turned back to Hunk.

“So, how ‘bout it Hunk?” asked Lance brightly.

“O-kay?” said Hunk hesitantly, eyes flicking back over to Lance.

Keith whipped around again to try and catch whatever Lance was doing behind his back, but he was too slow this time because Lance was just standing there with an angelic smile that was _totally_ fake. He had definitely signalled something to Hunk…

“Great! Let me get changed and we’ll go get Pidge!” enthused Lance.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Pidge, we’re going to sneak out to the Big Dipper Diner wanna come?” asked Lance.

“No,” said Pidge, immediately going to slam her door in their faces.

“Wait!” cried Keith.

“Do I even know you?” asked Pidge, adjusting her glasses to peer at Keith suspiciously.

“Not yet, but I knew your _brother_ and your _dad_ ,” replied Keith meaningfully, “I need your help with something to do with them. Sort of.”

Pidge’s eyes widened comically behind her glasses, and then narrowed into a probing glare, as if she could pick through his brain with her eyes.

“My brother and my dad,” she repeated, voice hard and suspicious.

“Sam and Matt,” said Keith softly.

Pidge started violently at hearing those names pass through Keith’s lips. For just moment she looked unbearably young and lost, but then she quickly schooled her features into an impressive mask of neutrality.  

“Alright,” she acquiesced shortly, before actually slamming the door shut in their faces.

Hunk, Lance, and Keith stood stupidly outside, unmoving for a beat.

“Do you really know Pidge’s brother and dad? I didn’t know he had a brother, he never talks about his family,” said Hunk.

Right, these guys still thought Pidge was a boy. Keith still didn’t know why she was pretending to be a boy, but he figured it’d be rude to _out_ her so to speak seeing as he needed her help.

Before Keith could formulate a reply, Pidge reopened the door and shut it again, behind her this time.

She was sporting a familiar backpack, and dressed casually.  

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

When Keith mentioned that his bike was parked out by the dead tree (“You mean the _kissing_ -tree,”) Lance suggested that they sneak out through the kitchens because that back door wasn’t heavily monitored, and Lance had a key-card for the area (“I swiped a key-card for the commissary at the beginning of the year so Hunk could stress-bake,” Lance had explained.).

Through all of it, sneaking through the Garrison, into the commissary, and out of the building, Keith was in a heightened state of alarm. Every door slammed, every overheard conversation, made him jump and his heart stutter, even though it was barely three o’clock so students _were_ in fact allowed to wander around inside.

Keith _knew_ it was irrational, no one knew he was here except the people he was currently trying to escape with, but he couldn’t help but feel that at any moment someone was going to jump out at him to drag him off to that awful tiny room…  

More than once, Lance had to grip his elbow and urge him to keep moving.

When they finally got outside, Keith sighed in relief.   

The vice-light pressure that had been squeezing his chest let up, and he finally felt like he could _breathe._

“Is that your bike over there Keith? The red one? Who’s that leaning against it?” asked Lance, pulling Keith out of his thoughts.

Keith squinted…

Lance was right, there were two people leaning up against the side of his bike, closely intertwined.

They were… _kissing_.

“That’s my bike!” Keith cried, affronted. _They were debasing his bike._

“Gross,” said Pidge, wrinkling her nose comically.

“Kinda rude of them to do that on a stranger’s bike,” murmured Hunk.

Lance guffawed, and crowed “ _That’s_ why it’s called the _kissing_ -tree.”

His expression quickly turned sour.

“Oh, I know that guy. He’s a _tremendo_ asshole.”

Keith realised that he knew him too, and the shock of that familiar face stopped him in his tracks.

It was motherfucking _Mike Dwyer_. He was a few years ahead of them, in the Garrison graduate program.

“Keith? What’s wrong?” asked Hunk, but his voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance because Keith’s blood was roaring in his ears. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his blunt nails biting into the flesh of his palm from the force of his kneejerk anger.

Without being fully aware of it, his legs were carrying him faster and faster towards the couple, where they intertwined practically on top of his bike.

They pulled away from each other with an audible wet smack when they noticed his rapid approach.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Keith Ko- _gay-_ ne,” said Mike in an infuriatingly smug voice.

Mike was tall, and bleach blonde. He would probably be considered conventionally attractive to most people, but to Keith he was the _ugliest_ person he had ever beheld on account of his beyond shitty personality.

“Nice haircut, did you do it yourself?” he sneered sarcastically.

The girl he was with looked between him and Mike curiously.

“Get off my bike,” Keith growled, trembling with emotion.

He didn’t want Mike’s slimy hands touching anything of his _ever_.

The girl complied immediately, while Mike stayed where he was, smirking at the sight of Keith visibly bristling.  

“Or what? Remember how our last fight went? What was it?” Mike made a show of thinking deeply, and started listing off things on his fingers, “Two broken ribs, a black eye, a dislocated shoulder, oh, _and_ you got booted out of the Garrison.”

“I said, get the _fuck_ off my bike!” shouted Keith.

“You heard him, get off his bike!” the others had caught up to him, coming to stand at his back. It was Pidge who had spoken, glaring at Mike with the same defiant look she had thrown at Iverson yesterday.

“Tut tut, Ko- _gay_ -ne. Your _Takashi-sempai_ isn’t even cold in his grave and you already have a new boyfriend? He’s a bit of a downgrade though, don’t you think?” drawled Mike mockingly, looking Pidge up and down exaggeratedly, “Then again, I guess Shiro wasn’t your boyfriend, we both know you were just letting him plow you to keep your top spot-”

“Shut up! _Shut up!_ Shiro was like a _brother_ to me! Don’t you _dare_ say another fucking word about him!” Keith bellowed, seeing red.  

He lunged forward with a feral growl, intent on pummelling every inch of Mike he could reach.

Mike didn’t have his little posse of friends to back him up his time, and he seemed to realise this fact a little too late, allowing Keith to catch a satisfying glimpse of naked fear on Mike’s dumb face, but then Hunk caught him around the waist and hauled him back.

Keith struggled against Hunk’s hold on him, but Hunk was as immovable as a mountain, restraining him as easily as if he were a toddler.

“Keith, he’s not worth it, don’t listen to him,” he said urgently.

If Keith really wanted to get out of Hunk’s hold, he knew he could have. He could have bitten or struck some part of Hunk, could have caused him enough pain to make his grip falter to allow Keith to slip away, but Hunk seemed to be subject to the same rules that guided his interactions with Lance.

Namely, Keith couldn’t bring himself to hurt him. He knew what Hunk sounded like when he was scared and in pain, and he couldn’t bear to be a source of that.  

Instead, to Keith’s unending humiliation, he felt his eyes fill.

He went still in Hunk’s hold, fighting to keep himself under control. He stared unblinkingly at the tops of his boots, desperately willing the tears to just get back in his face because the last thing he wanted was to _cry_ in front of fucking _Mike Dwyer,_ but it was no use.

Mike’s fearful expression melted back into smugness smoothly.

“ _Aww_ , did I make you _cry_ Ko- _gay-_ ne?” Mike mocked delightedly.

“ _Not_ cool man,” growled Hunk, shifting Keith gently so he could take a deliberate step in front of him, shielding him from view.

“Stop being such a wanker and get off Keith’s bike,” ordered Lance in an uncharacteristically clipped tone.

Lance has his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes were harder than Keith had ever seen them before.  

“Or you’ll _what_ pretty boy? You’re probably just as desperate for dick as he is,” spat Mike derisively.

“So what if I am?” challenged Lance, propping a hand on his hip and just staring at Mike steadily.

That seemed to throw the other boy for a second. It certainly threw Keith, who would never have predicted that Lance would react so nonchalantly to such an inflammatory remark.

“Well, then that would be really fucking _gay_!” spluttered Mike.

“ _Bi_ actually, Lancey-Lance doesn’t discriminate; I like girls too. Jayla there can tell you all about it, can’t you sweetheart?” said Lance cooly, aiming a shark-like grain at the girl that had been making out with Mike.

It seemed that over the course of the altercation she had been trying to distance herself from the situation by edging away from Mike’s side, but now that the spotlight was on her, she didn’t shy away.

Jayla threw back her shoulders to stand up straight, and flipped her very long twisted hair over her shoulder.

“You _were_ a pretty good kisser, and you’re _still_ kinda cute,” she conceded, “Too bad your friend threw up on me,” she finished bluntly.  

“I’m _still_ sorry about that!” called Hunk apologetically.

“ _Buuut_ on balance that’s preferable to be being a homophobic asshole I guess,” she continued, “Don’t bother calling Mike,” the look accompanying those words was so frigid Keith felt cold just from having witnessed it.  

Jayla sauntered away, cool as a cucumber.

“Hang on, don’t be like that!” Mike rushed after her.

“ _Fuck off_ Mike, if you like your balls where they are, you’ll stay away from me,” they heard her reply.

“Jayla, _baby_ , you’re over-reacting-”

Mike followed her as she marched towards the Garrison. From the stubborn set of her shoulders, his insistence was irritating her.

“Do you think we should have let Keith lay him out after all?” mused Lance aloud.

They watched as Mike reached out to grab Jayla’s arm, forcing her to stop and face him.

“Maybe we should step in,” said Hunk, but then Jayla turned in Mike’s grip and grabbed his hand, twisting it sharply to the side.

They heard Mike’s squawk of pain from where they were standing. She proceeded to carry out her earlier threat, and kicked him right between the legs, _hard._

As a collective, Keith, Lance and Hunk flinched.

Mike folded to the ground, clutching at himself, and Jayla turned her back on him, continuing on her way.

“ _Wow,”_ Keith heard Pidge exclaim in awe.  

“Seconded. I wish you didn’t throw up on her Hunk,” whined Lance, “Did you hear that? She called me _cute_! And a good kisser!”

“Anyway, are you alright?” asked Hunk, turning his full attention to Keith with his hands up as if he wanted to give him a hug but wasn’t sure if Keith would be okay with it.

Lance and Pidge turned their attention to him too, and the three of them stared at him with wide-eyed concern. Like he was fragile. Like he was _weak._

Keith stepped back out of reaching distance quickly. If he let Hunk hug him he was afraid he might start crying again, so he roughly muttered “Yes, I’m fine,” and scrubbed roughly at his face.

The three of them exchanged meaningful glances.

“For the record, we never believed those rumours,” said Hunk sincerely.

“Yeah, we knew better than to believe any of the garbage that guy spouted,” added Lance firmly.

For some reason those words raised a lump in his throat. They were being nice to him, why did it make him feel like crying again?   

“I can’t _believe_ what he said to you. What a _cunt_ ,” exclaimed Pidge, glaring at Mike’s still prone form in the distance.  

Lance cracked up laughing, while Hunk shrieked “Pidge! _Language_!” clutching his chest like a scandalized old lady.

“What? It’s true!” she retorted, and she looked so stubbornly bull-headed that Keith couldn’t hold back the small fond smile that broke across his face.

“Let’s go,” he said.

 

* * *

 

The interior of Big Dipper Diner looked like it was taken right out the 1960s, complete with shiny red vinyl booths and black and white checkered floors.

There was a dusty old jukebox in one corner that probably didn’t work anymore seeing as it looked over a hundred years old, and the walls were cluttered with colourful space-themed pop-art prints that were faded and yellowing with age.  

They took a round corner booth.

“I’ll take the French toast, add blueberries, and a strawberry milkshake,” Pidge rattled off to the middle-aged waitress.

“Could I please have the big dipper breakfast?” said Lance.

“Sure thing honey, how you want your eggs?”

“Sunnyside up, and could I have a peppermint milkshake? Thanks.”

“May I please have a build your own omelette with andouille sausage, peppered bacon, green bell peppers, and cheddar cheese served with sourdough toast on the side? And an orange juice.”

The waitress turned her attention to Keith expectantly.

“Uh…” Keith cast his eye over the menu and picked the first thing that stuck out, “Could I have the UFO burger with fries?”

Hunk shook his head emphatically.

“Keith my man, you gotta get a breakfast food.”

“But… it’s like 3 o’clock in the afternoon…”

“Breakfast foods are good at any time, and whenever all day breakfast is an option, it must be chosen. It’s a tradition!” Hunk insisted.

“Okay…” Keith flicked over to the breakfast section of the menu and once again picked the first thing that caught his eye, “Can I have the full stack of pancakes?”

Hunk beamed at him in approval and it made Keith feel… nice.

“Good choice!”

“Anything to drink?” prompted the waitress.

“Um, a milkshake?”

“What flavour?”

“Get strawberry!” urged Pidge.

“Get peppermint!” urged Lance.

“Chocolate please,” Keith decided, while Pidge and Lance groaned in mock disappointment.   

Once the waitress had left with their orders, Pidge leaned her elbows on the table and tented her fingers in front of her.

“It’s time for you to explain how you know who my dad and brother are,” she said. The fervent spark of curiosity was back in her eyes.

“Hang on, that doesn’t matter right now. We’re here because of what Keith tried to do in the bathroom earlier,” cut in Lance.

“What _did_ Keith try to do in the bathroom earlier? I didn’t really get anything out of your weird charades sign-language thing, Lance,” said Hunk, scratching his head.

“How about I just… explain?” suggested Keith.

The trio exchanged looks, and then Lance made a ‘go on’ motion with one hand.

Keith got right into it, deciding it was better to just get this over as quickly as possible; like ripping off a bandaid.

He explained about the time-loop.

(“How many fingers am I holding up?!” cried Pidge, “Three,” replied Keith wryly, “That isn’t that impressive,” scoffed Lance, then “Hang on, what do you mean you _die_ and the day resets?!” “Don’t freak out, I’m used to it.” “What do you mean you’re _used to it?!”_ )

He told them what he knew about them.

(“It’s _Varadero_ ,” corrected Lance, then “HOLY SHIT PIDGE IS A GIRL?!”)

He told them about Shiro’s arrival, and the aliens that were going to attack.

(“Are you saying we get invaded by _Xenomorphs?!”_ )

Which brought him up the point he actually wanted to discuss with them…

“I still can’t believe you’re been _posing_ as a dude all this time,” Lance was saying to Pidge, “Is Pidge Gunderson even your real name?”

“No, Pidge is a nickname Matt used to call me, and my cat’s called Gunderson.”

“So what _is_ your name?”

“I prefer Pidge,” she said shortly.

Keith was surprised that Lance accepted this answer with grace and didn’t pester Pidge further.  

“I don’t know what to do next. I’ve tried… _a lot_ of things. None of it’s worked.”

“Why do you want _us_ to help you?” asked Hunk, “I mean, no offence to us, but we’re just three cadets. Shouldn’t you take this to Commander Iverson or something?”

“Tried that already, and you three keep cropping up every reset. You’re always there when Shiro arrives, and you were there yesterday and the day before at Garrison when I-” Keith cut himself off abruptly.

He didn’t want to talk about the research team and what they had done to him.

“-You guys just turn up all the time-” Keith continued, “-And Pidge, you said you’d help me, so this is me asking for help.”

“I think you’re telling the truth… but what you’re saying is _crazy_ ,” said Hunk, shaking his head.

“I believe you,” said Pidge, zero reservations, “I’ve been scanning the sky ever since Kerberos was pronounced missing, and I’ve been picking up alien chatter for _weeks_ now.”

“What?!” exclaimed Lance.

“With what equipment? Surely not with Garrison tech, they monitor what we do,” said Hunk.   

“I did it with my _own_ equipment which I built _myself_ , it scans all the way to the edge of the solar system,” said Pidge smugly, gesturing to her ever-present backpack. It had its own place at the table by Pidge’s side.

With greedy eyes, Hunk made as if to grab the bag, presumably so he could check out Pidge’s tech, but she yanked it out of his reach and clutched it to her chest.

“Ack! Hands _off_ Hunk, first warning.”

Hunk pouted, and the expression looked ridiculous on his face.

That was the moment the waitress returned with their food and set a plate full of steaming, golden pancakes in front of him. It smelled _heavenly,_ like a mixture of vanilla essence and spun sugar.

Almost in a trance, Keith tore off a wedge of one of the golden brown discs, and shoved it in his mouth.

The morsel was so _soft_ and _fluffy,_ and it tasted so _sweet_.

He may have made a sound, and his eyes may or may not have rolled into the back of his head.

Abruptly Keith realised how _hungry_ he was. This morning was one of those mornings where he couldn’t stomach the tinned soup for breakfast (this happened often), so he hadn’t eaten all day.  

He tore off a larger section of pancake and shoved that into his mouth too.

“Dude… when was the last time you ate?” asked Lance haltingly.

Keith glanced up to see three pairs of wide eyes staring at him.

When _was_ the last time he ate?

“I can’t remember…” he said honestly, “With the resets… I guess most of the time I forget to eat.”

Eating hadn’t exactly been a priority since all of this started, especially when the only food he had readily available was sad, cold, tinned soup, back in his shack.

“ _Forget_ to _eat?”_ parroted Hunk disbelievingly.

Keith grabbed the rest of the top pancake and practically inhaled it in three bites.

“You’re eating that like you’ve never had a pancake before,” remarked Pidge.

“I _haven’t_ ,” Keith said with his mouth full.

“Nonono. This is your first time eating _pancakes?!_ No wonder you’re doing it all wrong!”

Doing it all wrong? Oh, right he was eating like an animal. He picked up his knife and fork and looked to Hunk for approval.

“ _Kalofae,”_ squeaked Hunk.

“What?” said Keith, wrinkling his brow in confusion, but Hunk seemed to be overcome with some emotion, and he buried his face in his large hands.

“Hunk just says that sometimes when he gets overwhelmed by the cuteness of something. It’s Samoan,” explained Lance.

Keith frowned.

“I’m _not_ cute,” he said firmly.

“ _I_ didn’t say you were,” said Lance, throwing his hands up defensively.

Keith’s frown deepened, “And what did he mean I’m doing it wrong?”

“Maple syrup. You gotta put maple syrup on top,” said Hunk, lowering his hands to point to a leaf-shaped bottle by Keith’s elbow.

He did as Hunk suggested and poured some of the viscous golden liquid onto his remaining pancakes, before using his knife to cut a generous slice, and his fork to bring it up to his mouth.  

If he thought the pancakes alone were delicious, that had _nothing_ on what they tasted like drenched in maple syrup.  

It was… the best thing he had ever tasted, and he couldn’t help but look up at the others in shock, bringing one of his hands up to his lips as if he could preserve the taste by catching it with his hand.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” he mumbled.

“You look like a kid on Christmas morning who’s just been given a puppy,” snorted Pidge in amusement while Keith got busy with his knife and fork so he could shovel more into his mouth.

“Look at his face Lance! You can’t tell me that isn’t a _little_ cute?”

“I’m not cute!” insisted Keith through another mouthful of pancake.

“ _Maybe_ it’d be cute if his table manners weren’t so uncouth,” Lance sniffed haughtily, but the way his mouth twitched as if here were trying to hold back a smile, and the warm mirth in his eyes contradicted his tone.

Keith tore into the rest of his food with an enthusiasm he usually reserved for flying. He had to resist the urge to lick his plate when he was done.

Pidge ate her food much like Keith, scrappily and messily. Lance ate his food precisely and carefully, demonstrating those table manners that Keith and Pidge were so lacking, while Hunk ate his food with relish, taking his sweet time.

Keith finished his meal first, and sat back sipping on his milkshake while he waited for the others to catch up. Hunk was last.  

“Okay, tell us what you’ve tried,” said Pidge after they were all done.

“First I tried fighting them off. At the beginning there were only three, but then after I managed to kill them, about a thousand more showed up. So next I tried going to the Garrison to warn Iverson and… well he didn’t listen.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, digesting Keith’s words.

“The way I see it, there a two courses of action we can take. Keith, _we_ believe you. How did you convince us?” said Pidge.

“I told you something I couldn’t know without you having told me before…” said Keith slowly.

“ _Exactly_. So if you want Iverson to believe you, you have to do the same thing.”

“You want him to walk up to Iverson and ask for his deepest darkest secret?” said Lance skeptically.

“It doesn’t have to be a _deep dark_ secret, it _can_ be mundane, it just has to be something Keith couldn’t have known before.”

“Yeah, garlic knots and burritos aren’t exactly _deep_ and _dark_ Lance,” said Hunk.

“Well, you have your work cut out for you Keith. I can’t imagine Iverson ever sharing even a mundane secret with _anyone_.”

Except… Iverson technically already _had_. He knew why Iverson had kicked him out, he knew about the research team, he knew he wasn’t fully human…

…But that would mean going back to the Garrison.

“What’s the other option Pidge?” he asked, hoping it was a better.

“The other option is Shiro. We could try and get to him _before_ the Garrison does. Him crash landing immediately before an alien invasion _can’t_ be a coincidence. He might know something that can help.”

Keith’s heart sank.

“There’s a problem with that, to get Shiro out of the spaceship the Garrison used some pretty heavy duty machinery. I haven’t got that sort of hardware handy, otherwise I would have tried to get Shiro out first _ages_ ago.”

“Why don’t we just borrow a jaws of life from the fire-department? It’s just down the road,” suggested Lance.

“Sure, let’s just ask them, _‘heeey, Mr. Firemen, I know we’re just four teenagers, but can we pretty-please borrow your jaws of life for the night to cut Takashi Shirogane out of a spaceship? Much appreciated.’_ Like they’ll just let us take something like that, no questions asked,” said Hunk.

“Which is why we won’t _ask_ ,” said Lance.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so can we run through the plan one more time?” asked Hunk nervously.

“Lance and Keith will be lookouts, you and I will sneak in, search for what we need, and get out. It’s not complicated Hunk,” said Pidge, rolling her eyes.

“I know, I know, but don’t you think the plan is a little _\- vague?”_

“ _Stop stressing_ Hunk, I’m putting though the fake callout now.”

They waited until the fire truck had roared out of the station towards whatever location Pidge had deemed far away enough, before making a break for it.

Lance and Keith waited by his idling hover-bike, ready with the coms to warn Hunk and Pidge if someone came back.

“Listen,” said Lance once they were alone, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “I want to address what you tried to do in the bathroom.”

Keith wanted to forget that it had ever happened.

 _“Why_ did you do that? You were… you were _terrified_ dude, so terrified that you tried to _kill_ yourself…”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” said Keith roughly.

“Look, you asked for help Keith. This is me trying to help.”

Lance was wearing that uncharacteristically serious face again, the one that Keith was starting to suspect wasn’t actually all that uncharacteristic.

Keith sighed and ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. He looked down and stared at the tips of his boots. Opening up to people wasn’t easy for him, but everything that had happened was a festering writhing mess in his brain, and it had been so long since anyone had _asked_ him to speak about himself, had offered to _listen_ … he found himself talking despite himself. He kept his eyes trained on his boots; it was easier to speak without seeing how Lance reacted.

“Yesterday… I told Iverson about what was going to happen, like I told you guys. Afterwards… they, um… I was…” it was more difficult to get the words out than Keith anticipated, and his heart raced in his chest.

“They caught me. Th-the Garrison research team. They put me in this room and um… there was a metal bench, I couldn’t move… I really tried, I really didn’t want to be there, but they um, strapped me down and…and…”

“Keith-” murmured Lance.

“Th-they had um, a tray? There was a metal tray. They had my dagger and a bunch of others, I mean a bunch of stuff. Not just daggers. My dagger was the only one actually… There were _things,_ like, scalpels and-and…”

Lance put a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and grounding.

“They um, used that stuff… on-on _me_ ,” Keith breathed.

“…Are you saying they _tortured_ you?” Lance sounded horrified.

Keith shrugged.

“They gave me an injection but it wasn’t really anaesthetic, it just made my head… murky- _really_ foggy- and I could only tell the truth, and even though I was… I could… th-the whole time I could um… even _though_ , they did it anyway.”

Keith hoped Lance understood his rambling explanation because he didn’t want to repeat himself.

“So when you said you were getting an instructor, I was… _worried_ about getting caught and - _that_ \- happening again. I was thinking I could just reset and try again. I’m sorry, I know it was stupid. I shouldn’t have overreacted and panicked like that. You-you shouldn’t have seen that. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

He would have to do better next time. This whole reset he had been unforgivably weak and pathetic, and he had just spilled to _Lance_ how weak and pathetic he really was. He could feel Lance examining him, and his instinctive reaction was to curl in on himself, to brace himself for Lance’s reaction.

He was expecting derision, rejection, maybe Lance echoing his thoughts and telling him he had to do better. Lance didn’t do any of those things.

“No wonder you’re not okay,” he said simply.

Finally, Keith looked up at him, and Lance stared back steadily without an ounce of disdain or disappointment. He looked… concerned.

“I’m fine,” Keith said, but it sounded weak to his own ears.

“Keith, you _aren’t_ fine. _No one_ would be. I feel like I should give you a hug or something. Do you want a hug?”

Lance pulled back and opened up his arms in clear invitation, and Keith could only stare back blankly.

Did he want a hug? He… kind of _did_ . He kind of _really_ did. A hug would be nice, but did he _deserve_ a hug? He bit his lip, flustered and caught between what he wanted (to accept) and what he thought he should say (no, thanks).

“Jesus Keith, don’t hurt yourself. It’s fine, I didn’t figure you for a hugger anyway-” said Lance with a wry grin.

“That’s not it!” Keith blurted, feeling mildly frantic as Lance’s arms slowly lowered to his sides.

“Oh? So you _do_ want a hug?” now Lance looked smug, and his arms jerked back up.

“Well, sort of, but-”

“Great! Bring it in!”

-And then Keith found himself being enthusiastically wrapped up in Lance’s long arms.

He was warm, and solid, and Keith couldn’t help himself.

All pretence of reluctance went out the window. He pressed his face onto Lance’s shoulder and gripped great big handfuls of the back of his jacket, clinging for dear life.

This close, the inch or two Lance had on him in height was perceptible, and he felt Lance drop his chin onto his shoulder.

He put a hand on the back of Keith’s neck, running his fingers through his jaggedly cut hair, and the gentle touch made Keith shiver.

Keith didn’t like relying on others, but Lance smelled like Garrison fabric softener, sandalwood, and _comfort_ , and being held by him made Keith feel like he could breathe a little easier _._ It gave the illusion of _safety._

“So… when you did what you did in the bathroom, it was so you could ‘reset’ again?” clarified Lance. Keith could feel the rumble of his voice through where their chests were pressed together.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m kind of an expert on dying now, I’ve died… in a lot of different ways, but what the research team did… that was the _worst_ , and I’d rather… well, you saw,” said Keith, voice muffled as he tried to burrow deeper into Lance’s shoulder.

He could feel Lance’s pulse thrumming strongly again his forehead. Had he ever listened to someone else’s heartbeat like this? He couldn’t remember. It was… nice.

Lance gave him a final squeeze before pulling away, and Keith forced himself to relax his grip and let go.

When he stepped back it left Keith feeling bereft, especially because Lance didn’t seem to want to look him in the eye.

“On the one hand I’m glad you weren’t trying to really… you know, _commit suicide_ . But on the other hand, this situation _fucking sucks_ ,” said Lance.

A beat later he pulled Keith’s dagger out of his belt - it had slipped Keith’s mind that Lance had confiscated it from him.

“I guess it’s safe for me to give this back to you in that case,” said Lance, presenting the handled end of the dagger to Keith.

Keith reached out to take it, but at the last moment Lance pulled it away, “You won’t do that again right?” he asked, meeting Keith’s gaze seriously.

“I can’t promise I won’t ever, but I won’t unless I need to,” replied Keith, reaching over and taking the handle. Lance let him pull the dagger away without a fuss, and watched him stow it in its case.

That was better, the familiar weight on his hip was welcome.

“Thanks for… thanks for being nice,” this one was probably the nicest iterations of Lance he’d encountered so far.

Lance groaned and ran a hand through his hair in agitation.

“Oh my god Keith, _please_ don’t thank me for being nice. I was a complete prick to you at first, and I mean, I know it isn’t really an excuse, but I may have, um, taken out my frustration about how badly our jump went on you…” said Lance sheepishly.

Keith blinked.

“I guess that explains some things,” mused Keith aloud.

“Explains what?”

“Just that, you’re always really… _different?_ Some resets, like now for example, you’re _nice_ but other times you’re… more like what you were like in the bathroom. _Mean_. It’s been confusing me,” admitted Keith.

“I’ve been _mean_ to you?”

Keith nodded.

“Mostly about my hair,” he explained, reaching back to tug on the lopsided ends of said massacred hair.

Lance groaned again.

“Is that why you went all _Mulan_ on your mullet?”

“What?” _Mulan?_

Lance waved his confusion off, “Never mind, I have nieces so I’ve watched a lot of vintage Disney. _Anyways_ , how about you do me a favour and just ignore me when I’m mean from now on, if you can? I can tell you for a fact that very, _extremely_ , deep _deep_ down I _don’t_ really mean it.”

“Alright,” said Keith, giving Lance a small smile. This was nice. _Really_ nice. Maybe Lance _could_ feel camaraderie for him?

“Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before,” remarked Lance, with a funny look on his face.

“You have, last time it made you suspicious though,” supplied Keith.

Lance snorted in amusement.

“Well I’ve definitely never hugged you before.”

“You have actually.”

“I _have?!”_

“ _This_ time was much better,” Keith assured him, “ _Last_ time you were crying and I was about to die so-”

Suddenly an alarm went off in the fire station and Lance and Keith were jolted into remembering what they were actually there for.

Keith was about to run into the building to see what had happened, when Pidge and Hunk came running out, Hunk hauling the jaws of life in his arms.

“Drive! Just drive!” shrieked Hunk hysterically, climbing on board with Pidge hot on his heels.

Keith didn’t need to be told twice, he punched the gas and headed into the desert. He only stopped once the town was out of view, in the shade of a dried up old tree that was barely clinging to life.

It occurred to Keith that the tree was a good allegory for everything in the desert; dried up and barely clinging to life, Keith himself included.

“If we need to do that again, tell Hunk _NOT_ to touch anything I tell him not to,” said Pidge with a scowl.

“What actually happened in there?” asked Lance.

“I _may_ have gotten distracted and _accidentally_ set off the alarm when I touched a button Pidge told me not to,” said Hunk meekly, fidgeting where he sat.

“Well, you guys got what we needed. That’s what counts,” said Keith.

“ _Sooo_ , now what?” asked Lance.

“Now… we have to decide what to do because both options are technically on the table,” replied Keith.

“What do you mean?”

“Yesterday… Iverson told me something.”

“Something mundane you couldn’t know without him having told you?” said Pidge excitedly.

“It isn’t mundane… He told me why he expelled me from the Garrison.”

“A lot of rumours went around after you left, but I thought it was because of that fight,” said Hunk.

“So did I. So tell us,” said Lance.

“Iverson said that after that fight the Doctor did a full physical… I was pretty messed up I guess. Anyway, they noticed…”

Keith hesitated. This was a big deal. He was about to tell them that he probably wasn’t completely human. What if they reacted poorly? What if they decided to turn him in?

“Keith?”

_Just fucking tell them. You can just reset if it goes badly._

He took a deep breath.

“They noticed-” what was the word Iverson used? “ _Irregularities._ ”

“Irregularities? What kind of irregularities?” prompted Pidge.

“Non-human ones,” said Keith bluntly, bracing for their reaction. None of them looked scared or angry… Pidge actually looked _excited._

“Are you saying Iverson kicked you out because he thought you were an alien?!” she exclaimed.

“Not exactly, he said he kicked me out because I was… _alien_ enough to fall under the Alien Inquiry Act and the auxiliary research team were going to-to…um they wanted to…”

Understanding lit Lance’s eyes.

“So Iverson kicked you out so they couldn’t get their hands on you?” he said

“Pretty much.”

“Wow. Turns out he has feelings and cares about us after all,” said Hunk.

“He didn’t do it for _me._ He said he did it as a favour to Shiro.”

“So _are_ you an alien? How long have you known? Have you been on earth your whole life?” asked Pidge rapidly.

“Um, as far as I’m aware I’ve never left earth. I only found this out yesterday.”

He’d suspected a lot longer, but they didn’t need to know that.

“Iverson also said that they lied about the Kerberos mission. They have _no idea_ what happened, they said it was pilot error so they could collect insurance money.”

“I _knew_ it!” growled Pidge.

“Okay, new plan,” she said, “There’s four of us so we split into two teams, two of us can go back and confront Iverson-”

“ _Convince_ , you mean convince right? Remember the point of all this is so when the aliens come down to get us we’re prepared to fight back,” inserted Hunk.

“Yeah yeah, same difference. The _other_ team will go for Shiro.”

“Alright, well I should probably be team Shiro because I’m the only one who knows how to work the Jaws of Life,” reasoned Hunk.

“Keith should be on team Garrison seeing as he’ll have to be the one to convince Iverson.”

“But-” Keith tried to interject, but Pidge kept talking.

“Which means Lance should go with you Hunk. He’ll have to fly Keith’s bike-”

“I’ve never driven one before!” protested Lance. Pidge rolled her eyes.

“You’re a pilot aren’t you?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but-”

“So you can figure it out, which means _I_ go with Keith to confront Iverson.”

“ _Convince_ ,” corrected Hunk.

“Sure.”

“I don’t want to go back!” blurted Keith.

The discussion came to a screeching halt

“Back to the Garrison?” asked Pidge, brows pinched in confusion.

Shit. His heart was beating fast again, and his palms were sweaty. They were all staring at him.

 _You’re being selfish Keith. If you don’t go back you’re being a_ coward. _If you die you’ll just reset, what does it matter how it happens?_

“Sorry I-I was just um… Look, just… Ne-never mind, I can- I can do it-”

“ _I’ll_ go back, I can try and convince Iverson, and Keith can drive with Hunk,” interrupted Lance.

“But Iverson _hates_ you,” said Hunk.

“No he doesn’t!” protested Lance indignantly

“I’m pretty sure that at the _very least_ he heartily dislikes you. He’s always comparing you to Keith and saying you’ll never measure up, and that you’re lucky you have your spot and stuff,” said Hunk with an apologetic shrug.

Wow. Was that true?

Keith looked at Lance questioningly, but Lance refused to meet his eye. He was red in the face.

“Thanks for saying all of that out loud that buddy,” Lance bit out through clenched teeth, “But the fact of the matter is, of the two of us it’s _Keith_ that they want to dissect. Besides, we can just have him speaking on the coms if necessary.”

“That’s… actually a good idea,” said Pidge.

“No need to sound so surprised,” retorted Lance acidly.

“So, let’s sit down and plan this thing properly,” said Hunk.

And then they did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these chapters seem to be getting longer and longer, whoops! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I wanted to have it go until Keith died again, but it was getting ridiculously long so I had to split it. 
> 
> “Ese tipo, me está jodiendo” roughly means, "This guy, you've gotta be fucking kidding me," or "You're fucking with me," something along those lines. 
> 
> “Kalofae,” is a Samoan word used to express sympathy, but also when something is endearing. Its sort of a great multi-use exclamation that is roughly the equivalent of 'awww,' like if someone tells you a sad story you'd say 'kalofae' or your grandmother might pinch your cheeks if you're a small child and say 'kalofae' (I am fully grown and my grandmother still does this though lol). Formally it's spelled Talofai, but said aloud in casual conversation it's pronounced with a k instead of a t cause in Samoan we have formal and informal language. T's become K's, R's become L's and sometimes N's become G's in informal language.
> 
> *cough* so now that I'm done with the linguistics lesson, thanks so much for all the kind comments and kudos, I squeal joyfully at all of it lol 
> 
> Less action in this chapter compared to others, I guess I was trying to focus on feelings and emotions and stuff?? Let me know how I did? lol
> 
> In particular if you're feeling wordy:  
> What did you guys think of Mike and Jayla?  
> The teams interactions?  
> Keith and Lance's interactions?  
> There’s a lot of sad/scared Keith, are the lighter bits in the diner too jarring by contrast? (does that make sense? lol)
> 
> Poor Keith is just having a very tough time, but if you're still reading this story I'm guessing you're here for the whump so its okay.
> 
> Chapter 1 changes: Keith watches the Garrison peeps set up the med unit and pry open the ship with machinery to get Shiro out before charging in.


	6. Reset 53 - part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finally gets to speak to Shiro.

“Okay, okay, so Pidge and I sneak back in, get to Iverson, and try to convince him. While we’re doing that, Keith and Hunk will lay down some of Keith’s explosives which he just… _has_ for whatever reason, we’re just… accepting that I guess…” Lance side-eyed Keith subtly before continuing his summary, “ _Anyway_ , if Pidge and I don’t manage to convince Iverson, you guys can set them off as the ship lands so the Garrison is confused about where to go, and then swoop in and snatch up Shiro. Is that everything?” said Lance.

“Remember I need to pilfer some tools from the Garrison,” injected Hunk.

“And Hunk needs tools to do the thing to the explosives. Is _that_ everything?”

“We’ve been over all the details except how exactly you guys will get a private audience with Iverson,” said Keith.

“Easy peasy-” said Lance snapping his fingers, “We’ll get into a fight, and that’ll get us sent straight to Iverson for a disciplinary meeting in his office. _Boom._ Once we’re there, we tell him the stuff.”

“But who will you fight?” asked Hunk.

“Each other!” replied Lance, like it was obvious.

“You wanna fight _me_?” cried Pidge.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” said Lance with a cocky grin.

“You say that like you won’t have a massive sulk when I mess up your pretty-boy face,” teased Pidge.  

 _“Maybe_ I’d be worried about you messing it up if you could reach this high, but I’m glad you think my face is pretty Pidge,” ribbed Lance, fluttering his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

“Considering how much time you spend in front of the mirror, and how much your moisturizer costs, you should be _a lot_ prettier, Lance,” retorted Pidge.  

“Whatever Pidge! My skin is _flawless_ so you can just-”

“ _Guys_ ,” injected Keith, “Can you save it until you get back inside the Garrison?” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Lighten up Captain Killjoy, we were just practising our smack talk,” said Lance.

_If that was their ‘smack talk’ they probably need more practice..._

“Right… well, let’s go. Hunk and I need time to recalibrate the explosives to be remotely detonated and to figure out where we should put them,” said Keith, “Get on the bike, we’ll drop you two by the tree.”

“The _kissing_ -tree,” injected Lance.

“Do you _have_ to call it that?” grumbled Keith.

“I don’t make the rules!”

 

* * *

 

Keith waited on his idling bike alone under the tree as the sun set. Meanwhile, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge sneaked into the Garrison.

Keith looked out across the desert. He had watched this sunset so many times, had seen these swirls of orange and red bleed across the sky as the sun sank down.

It was still as beautiful as the first time Keith saw it, but Keith would give almost anything to never have to watch it again.

Just as the edge of the sun dipped below the horizon, Hunk returned, hefting a backpack of his own.

As soon as he settled onto the back of the bike, Keith gunned the engine and took off into the desert.

Keith knew the exact spot where Shiro would land like the back of his hand.

“D’ya think you could go a little slower Keith?!” called Hunk desperately.

Keith glanced back to see that Hunk was looking rather green. When it was the four of them on the bike he’d been forced to moderate his speed for balance, but with just Hunk he’d opened the throttle.

He obliged, if only because he didn’t want to risk Hunk throwing up on him or his bike.

When Keith braked and let them roll to a stop, Hunk stumbled off the bike gratefully.

Keith climbed off at a more sedate pace, and opened the seat compartment to start unpacking the explosives.   

Suddenly the device beeped, and Keith fumbled to answer it.

 _“Hunk? Keith? You guys there?”_ it was Lance, and he was speaking in a low voice, like he was trying to be surreptitious.

“We’re here,” Keith put the com on speakerphone.

_“Great. Well the fight worked-”_

_“I won-”_ injected Pidge boastfully.

 _“Pidge, I_ **_told_ ** _you I was gonna let you win-”_ huffed Lance.

“So what’s happening now?” prompted Keith impatiently.

_“We are awaiting the arrival of Iverson as we speak. They locked us in one of the small conference rooms.”_

“They locked you in there together?” asked Keith incredulously. If he’d been locked in a room with Mike Dwyer after their fight he definitely would have ended up killing him, or permanently maiming him, despite the dislocated shoulder and other assorted injuries he’d been sporting.   

 _“They left a guard on the door, he’s watching us through the glass_ ,” explained Lance.  

“ _Oh, here he comes. You’re on speaker now so only say what you want him to hear. We’ll try to explain first though,”_ said Lance hurriedly.

There came the sound of doors opening and closing, measured footsteps…

Hunk came to stand by Keith so they could listen avidly together.

 _“What is the meaning of this cadets? Out past curfew_ **_and_** _you were fighting_ ,” spat Iverson angrily.

 _“We did it to get your attention,”_ said Lance.

“ _Excuse me?”_ Iverson made the words sound dangerous.

 _“We know about Keith Kogane. He told us about the research team and why he was_ **_really_ ** _expelled.”_

_“…Instructor Chan, I need to have a private conversation with these two cadets, you’re dismissed.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

The door swished open and closed again.

The was a pregnant pause.

“ _You two are going to tell me_ exactly _how you came across this information,”_ commanded Iverson.

“ _Gladly!”_ exclaimed Lance, “ _You told Keith Kogane, and he told us.”_

_“Are_ _you trying to be funny cadet?”_

“ _No sir, we’re being serious,”_ said Pidge _, “With my own equipment I’ve been scanning the solar system and picking up alien chatter. I_ **_know_ ** _that this means you guys have been picking it up too, and tonight those aliens are going to attack us.”_

_“So you need to mobilize the fighter jets-”_

_“This is ridiculous-”_

_Lance cut Iverson off._

_“Shiro is coming back tonight as well. He’s gonna crash land out in the desert-”_

“ _That’s ENOUGH!_ ” shouted Iverson.

“They’re telling the truth,” blurted Keith into the com, “I’m stuck in a timeloop, I die every day and then everything resets to this morning. Yesterday you told me about the- the _irregularities_ with my last physical examination. You told me told me you sent me away because Shiro was fond of me.”

There was a long silence… and then the line went dead.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Keith, making Hunk flinch.

Keith tried ringing back, but there was no answer.

Hunk and Keith looked at each other.   

“… I guess we better set these explosives,” said Hunk.  

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, you did _what?!_ ”

Hunk’s face started out politely interested, and ended completely horrified when Keith explained that he had pretty much just messed around with the explosives until they did what he wanted which was… probably not the safest method now that he thought about it. Definitely not safe seeing as it resulted indirectly in his own death half a dozen times.

“How about you just leave this part to me?” suggested Hunk gently. Keith frowned thoughtfully.

“Are you sure? If took me the better part of a whole day to get it right. I could help-”

“Don’t worry, I’m an engineering major. I’ll let you know if I need help,” said Hunk firmly, and with that, he got to work.

Over the course of the next few hours Keith had the dawning realisation that Hunk was in fact a _genius_ . He _really_ didn’t need Keith’s help at all.

His large brown hands handled the equipment with surprising dexterity and mastery. Keith had never witnessed Hunk move with such certainty; he was in his element.

He’d thought that Pidge was the smart one in their group, but it turned out that Hunk’s intimidating exterior, and anxious, kind, disposition, was concealing an eidetic memory and a prodigious talent for mechanics.

Hunk rewired the explosives far more quickly and expertly than Keith had before, and he did some fancy calculations to figure out where would be the best place to detonate them.

(“Well, we already know the terminal velocity, _obviously,_ so we can calculate a rough force of impact if you can remember how big the spaceship was? We can assume the object is hollow I think, and I’ll use the density of the titanium alloy they used for the Kerberos ships as a proxy. I already know the density of air… Also, what angle did the ship come in at? If we set this up right, we can make it look like the object skidded to a halt like when you skim a rock over water-”)  

They had an hour to kill once everything had been set up, so they settled down to wait beside the rocky outcrop with the jaws of life at the ready.

“Do you think Pidge and Lance are okay?” asked Hunk suddenly, fidgeting nervously.

“Yeah, I think they are. Neither of them are part alien, so the research team won’t be able to touch them.”

They lapsed back into silence, and Hunk continued to fidget.  

“So…” said Hunk a minute later, “What have you been up to since you left the Garrison?” he asked awkwardly.

Ah, Keith got it. Hunk was one of those people that couldn’t stand sitting in silence. This was probably why he and Lance got along so well; Lance wasn’t conductive to silence.

“Living out in the desert. Exploring the caves.”

_Listening to a strange voice at the back of my head that I’ve decided to call Blue, which tells me to come find them and occasionally calms me down when I’m freaking out._

Keith decided not to say that bit out loud. Hunk was twitchy enough _without_ Keith telling him he had literally been listening to voices in his head in addition to everything else.

“Cool, cool, cool,” rattled off Hunk nervously.

Keith supposed he should probably make an effort at conversation. Hunk seemed like he was liable to work himself into a nervous fit if Keith didn’t distract him.

“Why did you decide to come to the Garrison?” he asked.

It was only yesterday that Lance had commented that for someone enrolled in the Galaxy Garrison for space exploration, Hunk was extraordinarily unadventurous. Keith was inclined to agree.

“I got a scholarship,” replied Hunk, “Lance is here on a scholarship too, both of us come from underprivileged minority backgrounds - he’s Cuban, I’m Samoan - so, you know, we fill that quota.”

“That’s _how_ you got here. _Why_ did you decide to come?”

Hunk’s expression turned introspective.

“Well… where I come from, there aren’t a lot of ways to… _get out_ . Don’t get me wrong, American Samoa is a really beautiful place, but there isn’t a whole lot there in the way of opportunities for a better life. There’s tourism, or there’s the tuna cannery, and that’s about it. I got really good grades in elementary school, so my family sacrificed a lot to send me to a fancier bilingual middle school so I’d have more opportunities than they did. I guess it was sort of… _expected_ that I’d do something _more_? They invested a lot in me, and then I got offered a full ride to the Garrison for the engineering programme and, well, I couldn’t turn it down. No one in my family has ever gone to college, let alone a fancy school in America.”

So Hunk was at the Garrison for his family. It sounded like all their hopes and dreams were pinned on his success. Keith wondered what that was like… the idea both terrified and enthralled him.

Having a family that was invested in what you did, was gunning for you to do well and have a good life, that sounded wonderful, but the idea was almost too bright for Keith to look at, too hot for him to touch.  

The thought of all that expectation, all that pressure on his shoulders, being responsible for the happiness of so many others… it was frightening.

No one had been particularly invested in how he did at the Garrison except maybe Shiro, and no one cared what he did or what happened to him after he’d been kicked out. He’d been able to basically disappear into the desert without anyone noticing. Keith had always figured no one cared about him because of a failing on his part. Other people seemed to be able to get along with each other perfectly, so by process of elimination he _had_ to be the problem. He wasn’t worth caring about, there was something inherently unlovable about him, which was why everyone always left.

The fact that he was probably part alien only lent credence to this verdict.

He was too quiet, too angry, too stubborn, too defensive, and he’d given up trying to get close to people a long time ago because he always ended up alone. Until Shiro came along that is, but then Shiro had disappeared too.

Hunk gave a small sigh, drawing Keith out of his depressing musings.

“I like science, I like engineering and numbers and stuff, I like the idea of space from a theoretical perspective, but I don’t _live_ for this stuff like Pidge and Lance do. I just happen to be okay at it,” said Hunk humbly.  

“If you got in here on a scholarship you must be a little better than just ‘okay,’” said Keith logically.

Hunk laughed.

“Thanks Keith,” he grinned, leaving Keith a little bemused. He was just stating fact.

“It’s true though, they only accept the _best_ at the Garrison,” he insisted.

“What about you? Why’d you apply here?” asked Hunk.

“I didn’t,” replied Keith.

“Then how’d you get in?” Hunk looked really interested in what he had to say.

The only person Keith had ever told this story to was Shiro, but Hunk’s eyes were kind and brown just like Shiro’s had been so he figured it wouldn’t hurt to tell the damn story to pass some time.

“I was living nearby with this foster family and they…” he winced; Hunk didn’t need to know details, “Let’s just say we didn’t get along, so I ran away,” he’d planned on heading into the desert to find his dad’s old shack. It wasn’t a very well thought-out plan, but then again none of his plans tended to be. What they tended to be was off-the-cuff and impulsive.

“I hotwired a hover-bike in town, and it turned out that it was a Garrison vehicle. They followed me and only managed to catch me once I ran out of fuel-”

“Wait, wait, wait, are you saying you out-flew _Garrison personnel_ ? On a _stolen_ hover-bike? Through the desert?!”

“Yeah-”

“How old were you?!”

“I was just about to turn fifteen I think-”

“Had you even ridden a hover-bike before?!” Hunk’s mouth was hanging open in shock.

“Uh, no I hadn’t.”

He still remembered the feeling of that first flight, the pure joy that has suffused his being, the weightless freedom of it, the way he had known instinctively exactly how to handle the machine, how hard to press the throttle, which way to angle the handlebars to slip seamlessly through tiny gaps in rocky outcrops… He was hooked.  

“Oh my gosh! What happened after that?” exclaimed Hunk. The naked interest on his face was a bit disarming.   

“They took me back to the Garrison and I thought I was going to be in a lot of trouble. Instead, Iverson threw me in the fighter-jet flight simulator and said that if I finished the mission I wouldn’t have to go back to my foster parents house.”

“So you finished the mission. Which simulation was it?” injected Hunk.

“Jupiter delta-foxtrot 372, on level five.”

Hunk gave a low impressed whistle.

“After that they let me in as a student, and assigned Shiro to be my mentor,” finished Keith with a shrug.  

“No wonder Lance was obsessed with you.”

_Obsessed?_

“What do you mean?” asked Keith, frowning.

“Maybe not obsessed with you per se, just obsessed with measuring up to you. I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s only _just_ managed to successfully complete Jupiter delta-foxtrot 372 on level _four_ , and that’s with three years of experience flying sims and a lot of effort put into studying theory and the rest of it,” explained Hunk.

“Plus, you mostly ignored him, and if there is one thing that drives Lance absolutely crazy, it’s being ignored,” added Hunk conversationally.

That made Keith frown even harder. He’d ignored _everyone_ at the Garrison when he’d first started as a cadet. He’d been even pricklier than he was now, if that was possible. Had Lance taken that personally? He didn’t mean it personally.

He never meant these things personally.  

“You were kind of living his dream when you were at the Garrison. You were in fighter class, top of the scoreboard for sim-runs, being mentored by _the_ Takashi Shirogane… He gets down about disappointing his family a lot since his scholarship is only partial and they’re spending a lot of money for him to be here, so I think the whole rivalry thing made it easier to cope,” shrugged Hunk.

“And I mean, the instructors never let him forget that the only reason he got into fighter class in the first place was because you left.”  

Keith didn’t know how to reply to that so he said nothing, mulling over Hunk’s words.

At least the silence between them was comfortable now, the anecdotes shared acting as a buffer to stave off Hunk’s nervous twitchiness.  

As darkness fell they intermittently continued to try and call Lance and Pidge on their coms. It was to no avail.

And then finally, Shiro’s ship shot across the sky.

“Get down!” Keith yelled, pulling Hunk to crouch down behind the rocky outcrop.

The boom when the ship landed was deafeningly loud. The ground shook beneath Keith’s feet, and rattled his bones.

Beside him Hunk shifted and pressed a button, and then six more booms happened in quick succession, shaking the ground less and less as they were detonated further and further away from their location.

Keith sprang to his feet and gripped Hunk by the elbow to pull him up.

“C’mon!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. He could hardly hear himself over the ringing in his ears, and Hunk looked distinctly bamboozled, blinking dazedly up at him.

Keith pulled _harder_ , but there was no way Hunk’s mass was moving anywhere unless it was under his own power.

“We have to get Shiro _now!”_ he shouted.

His words finally seemed to pierce Hunk’s consciousness, and he came back to life, getting to his feet and scooping up the jaws of life as if it weighed nothing.

Keith sprinted for the ship, leaving Hunk in the dust, but it was okay because Hunk was making his way over as fast as he could.

Keith just couldn’t hold back; _Shiro_ was inside that ship and he would finally get the opportunity to runs his fingertips over the smooth smooth metal of that space ship… 

“Don’t touch it! It’ might be hot from re-entry!” yelled Hunk, as if he had been reading Keith’s thoughts.

The whole crater was faintly smoking, and Keith stopped just short of touching the ship even though he really _really_ wanted to.

Instead he walked the circumference of the ship, taking in details he hadn’t noticed from a distance. The ship was roughly the same shape as a fighter jet, with a tapered nose and wider back.

The windshield was opaque, as black as the metal the rest of the ship was constructed out of, which had Keith wondering how anyone could steer the thing. Was that why Shiro had crashed? He couldn’t see?

Keith heard a low rumble as Hunk started up the jaws of life cutter function, and he completed his orbit around the ship to stand by his side.

“Well, here goes nothing,” said Hunk, before jamming the edge of the cutter into a barely perceptible seam that Keith assumed outlined the entrance of the ship.

A few minutes of fruitless labour later, Hunk look ready to pull his hair out.

The metal of the cutter squealed and groaned horribly against the smooth metal of the spaceship, not even making a dent.

“How the heck did the Garrison pry this thing open!? What is it even made of!?” Hunk grunted in frustration, and then after a particularly hard push and twist, the blade of the cutter slipped out of the seam Hunk had been fruitlessly trying to cut into, the metal screeching as it slipped past. Hunk toppled forward under the weight of the cutter with a yelp, landing in an undignified heap on the ground.

Keith gave him a hand up and they exchanged a glance of mutual understanding: it was not going to work.

“I think we have to get out of here,” said Hunk, dusting himself off and pointing to a line of lights in the distance, heralding the approach of Garrison vehicles.

“ _No._ ”

Keith wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he laid his hands against the metal of the spaceship.

He heard Hunk’s sharp intake of breath.

“Keith! _Don’t-_ ”

“It isn’t hot,” Keith replied. The metal was actually cool to touch.

There was a pulse of purple light as a glowing symbol appeared on the side of the craft.

It looked like a handprint…

Keith automatically laid his hand against it, ignoring Hunk’s spluttered protests.

All at once, the seam in the metal clicked open with a soft hiss, lifting upwards...

Keith’s eyes immediately zeroed in on Shiro.

He was crumpled over the dashboard in what was presumably the pilot’s seat, his expression twisted into a pained grimace.

Keith rushed forward into the ship, and carefully eased Shiro upright.

“Shiro, _Shiro!_ ” Keith called, shaking his shoulder.

Shiro’s eyes fluttered open weakly, and he seemed to stare straight through Keith as if he wasn’t there, gaze unfocused.

“Keith?” he rasped, voice scratchy and thin, as if it had been awhile since he had spoken. It was music to Keith’s ears.

“Yeah, it’s me. Let’s get you out of here.”

As he helped Shiro stagger to his feet, Keith finally took in the inside of the spaceship.

Keith wasn’t sure what he would have expected the inside of an alien spaceship to look like, but it was oddly reminiscent of the cockpits of human aircrafts.

There were seats, what looked like a control panel covered in strange buttons and switches. The colour scheme black with glowing purple accents.

What was up with these aliens and the colour purple?

Although the windscreen was opaque from the outside, it wasn’t from the inside. Keith could see across the desert through it. He could see the Garrison vehicles getting closer and closer...

Shiro leaned his weight heavily on Keith’s shoulder, and allowed Keith to lead him out.

He was pretty out of it.

“It _is_ Shiro,” breathed Hunk, rushing forward to help by slotting himself in under Shiro’s other shoulder once Keith got him out of the ship.

“Help me get him on the bike, _quick_ ,” said Keith, mindful of the fact that the Garrison was likely to turn up any minute now.

Between the two of them they situated Shiro’s limp body so Hunk was holding onto him. He allowed them to manhandle him like he was a ragdoll, still dazed and unfocused from re-entry and impact.

“Keith… Keith,” murmured Shiro weakly, trying to get his attention.

“What is it?” asked Keith softly, turning in his seat to look back at him.

"What did you do to your hair?" he asked. Keith touched the uneven, blunt ends of his hair self-consciously. 

"What do you mean what did I do to it?" asked Keith.  

“It looks _awful,_ " replied Shiro baldly, still clearly dazed. 

Keith couldn't help but laugh at that.  
  
"I’m so glad to see you again,” Shiro said, his eyes shining with emotion, reaching out to him with a shaky human hand.

Keith took it both of his and squeezed seeing as Shiro seemed to lack the strength to do so.

He shot Keith his fond crooked smile. The one he always did when Keith did or said something incorrigible. Keith felt the muscles in his face automatically smile in response.

“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

The last time he saw Shiro before this mess started - before getting kicked out of the Garrison, before the time-looping - was at the launch for the Kerberos Mission. He’d been astonished that Shiro had asked _him_ to come see him off. He’d been _honoured_.

Shiro had looked every inch the Garrison Golden boy that day, with his uniform pressed perfectly and his boots polished until they shone. He was _literally_ the poster boy for a lot of the Garrison recruiting materials, and it was easy to understand why; he was just the type of person that other people wanted to follow with his good-looks, boyish charm, and humble sincerity. Not to mention, his sheer raw talent. When it came to piloting, no one could touch him. (Well, no one until Keith came along.)

Shiro eyes had sparkled that day with excitement and anticipation; Keith knew that Shiro had been longing for this. Longing to leave Earth and see the stars. Keith understood because he felt _exactly_ the same way.

 _Restless_ , like something out there was calling to him. Like there was something more he needed to see, far far away from Earth.

So even though Shiro was the only person he’d managed to really connect with since his dad left, even though the idea of being at the Garrison without him left Keith feeling cold and bereft, he’d stoically wished Shiro luck and savagely ordered himself to save his tears for when he was alone.

 _“I’ll be back before you know it, and next time I leave, you’ll be coming with me. Provided you keep your grades up,”_ Shiro had said, ruffling Keith’s hair fondly. Keith always batted Shiro’s hands away when he did this, protesting that he wasn’t a little kid - _hands off_ \- but secretly he loved the affectionate gesture.

Keith suspected that Shiro knew this too, which was why he probably kept doing it.

“ _But seriously Keith_ -” Shiro had said, laying a hand on his shoulder, (an action Keith _hated_ when anyone else did it; it reminded him of being directed and led between different foster families, or being sent to see the Principal’s office; an impersonal touch that was for _controlling_ , not comfort. It was different when Shiro did it).

_“Don’t do anything rash while I’m gone. Remember-”_

_“Patience yields focus,”_ Keith had recited, rolling his eyes fondly. _“I’ll remember.”_

And he _did_ remember. Right up until the mission was lost, and Shiro was declared _dead_.

He never understood why someone like Shiro had befriended him, why he had never given up on him.  

All he knew was that he’d _never_ give up on Shiro.

 

* * *

 

Keith flew them hard and fast to his shack, and this time Hunk didn’t complain about the speed.

Shiro recovered his mental faculties about halfway through their journey, suddenly yelling;

“Hang on a minute, _where are we going?_ This isn’t the way to the Garrison!”

“We can’t go to the Garrison!” Keith shouted back.

“Keith, turn this hover-bike around and take me to the Garrison _now_! You don’t understand, I need to warn everyone about-”

“-About the aliens that are about to invade and kill us all,” cut in Keith, “I _know_ Shiro. They won’t listen to you.”

“How do you-?”

“-Know? I’ll explain when we arrive. I just need you to trust me, _please_.”

Shiro fell silent after that, and Keith took that as tacit permission to continue.

 

* * *

 

Keith rumbled to a halt beside his shack and quickly disembarked, intending to help Shiro down, but it wasn’t necessary. Any residual confusion or physical weakness from the landing was gone, and he stood tall on his own.

As soon as Keith was within reach, Shiro laid a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was so comfortingly familiar that it nearly brought tears to his eyes. Shiro’s calm steady presence was a balm.  

“I’m so glad to see you Keith,” he said, his brown eyes impossibly kind just like they always were. Even though he had a scar across the bridge of his nose, an alien prosthetic arm, and shockingly white bangs, he was still Shiro.  

Keith wanted to throw himself into his arms, to hug him tightly and beg him to make everything better, but he held himself back. They didn’t have time for a teary heartfelt reunion.

“I’m glad to see you too,” he replied, voice strained with emotion.

“Hi! I’m Hunk,” said Hunk, putting out a hand which Shiro took to shake automatically. It was his right hand, his _robotic_ hand, and Keith could see Hunk biting his lip like he _really_ wanted to comment on it, but ultimately he didn’t say anything. He _did_ stare at it like he was awestruck though.  

“Let’s go inside. I’ll explain.”

 

* * *

 

Keith spotted his lizard creeping across the wall in the kitchen, and he almost said hello to it reflexively. He should probably give it a name. After all, he’d named the presence. The lizard probably deserved a name _more_ seeing as it actually had a corporeal form that he could see.

Blue gave him a disgruntled mental poke which Keith took to mean ‘ _I resent that_.’

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Hunk started snooping through his stuff. It was like he had a radar for sensitive information, because he immediately made a beeline for the wall Keith had dedicated to pinning up his research.

“ _Woah._ Is this a conspiracy board?” he asked, stooping slightly to examine a photo Keith had taken of some cave paintings he’d discovered out in the desert.  

“No, it’s _research,_ ” Keith snapped irritably. He resented the implications of delusion the word ‘conspiracy’ provoked. He had _proof_ and _facts_ and _evidence_.

“Um, _this_ note here says ‘ _Garrison can’t be trusted. Lying about Kerberos mission_ ,’” read Hunk aloud pointedly.  

“Well I was right about that wasn’t I?” retorted Keith.

“I thought you said you were just living out here exploring caves. This looks a _little_ more involved than that...” remarked Hunk, leaning in closely to squint at more of Keith’s roughly scribbled notes and drawings.  

“Wait, you’re _living_ out here?” injected Shiro, clearly aghast, “Keith, _why?_ Since when?”

Keith was still floundering for a way to change the subject when Hunk took it upon himself to answer for him.

“He got booted from the Garrison like six months ago after he got into a fight, except it _wasn’t_ for getting into the fight really, it was for being-”

Keith cleared his throat loudly and pointedly, but it was too late.

“ _Six months_ you’ve been living here? _Alone?_ ” said Shiro, sounding honestly upset at the idea.

“Wait, _how long have I been gone?_ ” he asked.

This time Hunk caught the tone of the conversation and refrained from commenting. Keith just crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, focusing on his lizard creeping creeping down towards his sink.

“Oh, Keith…” said Shiro, sounding heartbroken, understanding, and fond all at once. Keith had to swallow a suspicious lump in his throat before he could speak.

“Look, we don’t know how much time we have,” he said hoarsely.

Shiro sighed.

“You’re right, let’s… let’s get back to the subject at hand,” he agreed reluctantly, “How did you know that they’re coming?”

“I’m stuck in a time-loop. Every time I die, the day resets back to this morning. Every night _you_ arrive, and then not long after, the monsters arrive.”

“ _Time-loop?_ ” exclaimed Shiro, looking a little stunned.

“We found it hard to believe too, but he knew stuff about us that he couldn’t have before. He knew you were going to arrive before you actually did,” offered Hunk.

“I believe you-” said Shiro quickly, _certainly,_ “-But what do you mean every time you _die?_ ”

“They come down with a whole army and there’s nothing I can do to stop it… at least not by myself. _Believe_ me, I’ve tried… _so_ many things.”

Keith gave Shiro a rough rundown of his attempts thus far, sanitizing what he’d experienced as much as he was able to, however Shiro was smart; he could read between the lines.

As Keith spoke, the look in Shiro’s eyes became progressively more flinty until his expression was positively _thunderous_.

Keith had never witnessed Shiro like this; so angry a muscle in his jaw was twitching.

“I’m so sorry, Keith. This isn’t fair. It shouldn’t be happening to you,” he said, fists balled tightly at his sides.

“It’s… fine.”

It wasn’t fine. But it wasn’t Shiro’s fault either, he didn’t need to apologize.

“Where have _you_ been, Shiro? What happened to you?” Keith asked.

Shiro let out a whooshing sigh.

“A lot of it’s a blur…” he started haltingly.

“We were abducted from Kerberos. They separated Matt and me from Sam and took us… away. At some point Matt and I were separated too…” Shiro’s brow was furrowed deeply as if dredging up these memories was arduous.

“Who took you?” asked Keith softly.

“They call themselves the Galra. They’re conquerors, they’ve destroyed... _countless_ worlds. They’re coming because there’s a piece of a weapon hidden somewhere on Earth. They want it.”

_A piece of a weapon?_

“What kind of weapon?” Keith asked.

“I don’t know… The details are blurry, but someone helped me escape. They sent me here so I could warn people.”

“Warning people doesn’t work. The Garrison doesn’t listen to me, and it doesn’t listen to you,” said Keith.

“What if we find this weapon, and hand it over? If we give them what they want, maybe they’ll leave us alone?” piped up Hunk.

“ _No_ . We can’t let it - _whatever_ it is - fall into their hands. The technology they have is already _so_ \- You have _no_ idea. We _can’t_ help them get more powerful,” said Shiro ferventy.

“Then we need the Garrison to mobilize to fight them off. I need to figure out how to convince Iverson to deploy the fighter jets-”

“Keith-” interrupted Shiro, “He doesn’t have the authority,” he continued quietly, apologetically. Those five words echoed in Keith’s head.

He doesn’t have the authority.

_He doesn’t have the authority._

It was a crushing blow to find out that everything he’d be working towards, everything he’d been though, it was for _nothing. Again._

His legs gave out and he collapsed onto his shitty futon, rapidly blinking as his vision blurred. He was utterly numb.  

“Keith… _Keith_ ,” Shiro’s hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his daze. He didn’t know how long they’d been trying to get his attention for.

Both Hunk and Shiro were staring at him in concern.

“I was going to say-” said Hunk carefully, “-What have you been looking for? Because _these_ readouts here?” Hunk pointed to a graph Keith had pinned up; a readout from when he’d booted up his dad’s old spectrometer, “They look like doppler lines-”  

Hunk cut off when a familiar screech rent the night.

 _“_ What was that!?” he squeaked fearfully.

_I know what it is…_

Keith left his shack without a word, and walked away until he could look out across the wide expanse of the desert unimpeded. Hunk and Shiro followed on his heels.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d watched that writhing line of black blanketing the horizon, come closer and closer until he was consumed. There it was again, coming for them.

He heard twin sharp intakes of breath behind him.

“Oh my gosh…” said Hunk faintly, as the ground faintly rumbled beneath their feet.

Keith’s time was nearly up.

Very calmly, Keith got out his dagger and pulled up his sleeve.

Lance had done a good job; it hadn’t bled through. Too bad he was going to ruin the bandages now anyway.

“Keith, what are you doing?” asked Shiro in a hushed tone.

“I’ve lived through dying this way already. It sucks,” he said bluntly, “We don’t have long left, is there anything else you can tell me, Shiro?” he asked, contemplating the best place to stick his knife. On second thought, he probably wouldn’t bleed out fast enough through his arm; they’d be here in minutes.

“Uh, Keith, what are you-” said Hunk at the same time that Shiro said, “ _Wait,_ now just hold on a second, there has to be something we can-”

“There’s _no time_ ,” snapped Keith, interrupting both of them, “They’re going to tear us all apart. This way is better, _trust_ me.”

He took a deep lung-filling breath, flipping his knife so he was holding the blade towards himself.

He started to bring it down, aiming for the left side of his chest, but before he could complete the motion Shiro was there.

He held Keith’s wrist with his robotic arm - immobilising him as easily as if he were a child - leaving the knife suspended between them, the sharp end still pointing at Keith’s chest.

“Keith, _please_ , not like this,” he begged.

“It’s okay, Shiro. I’ll just wake up again this morning. You won’t even remember this,” said Keith reassuringly, even managing to dredge up a smile for him, and then he let himself fall forward on to his own blade.

“Keith, _no-!_ ”

It sliced through his flesh so easily. He barely felt it as it sunk into his chest, right up to the hilt; it happened so quickly. Angled slightly upwards, it slitted right in between his ribs.

Shiro caught him against his chest when he stumbled forward, and stopped his trembling fingers from pulling out the blade.

The pain only registered when he saw his own blood coating his fingertips, wet and slippery. It was like seeing physical evidence of the wound finally allowed his body to realize _‘oh yes, there’s a hole in me where there shouldn’t be. Ouch.’_

And now it _burned_ , like his knife had been on fire.

“Let me pull the knife out, Shiro,” Keith said through gritted teeth, “I w-won’t bleed out fast enough, _please_ ,” he begged.

He felt his blood soaking into Lance’s hoodie, making the fabric stick to his skin. The screeching of the monsters was drawing nearer, filling his ears...

“No, no , no, no,” Shiro was moaning fearfully, shaking his head, eyes wide and not present.

They both toppled over when Shiro’s legs gave out, still chanting ‘ _no,_ ’ brokenly over and over, clutching Keith desperately to his chest.  
  
“We need to do something! They’re getting closer! We have to leave, or you have to let Keith pull the knife out and finish what he started-” Hunk was yelling, coming to crouch beside them.

“NO!” Shiro screamed, pushing Hunk with his robotic arm, sending him bodily flying away from them. Hunk yelped, and landed with a heavy thud a few meters away.

The metalic taste of blood flooded Keith’s mouth, and he coughed wetly, feeling blood dripping down his chin…  
  
He tried to pull the blade free, but Shiro’s human hand was closed over his fist tightly, rendering him immobile.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Hunk was back again, speaking in a low soothing tone the way once might approach a frightened animal.

“Listen to me, can you see them? Coming towards us?”

Keith could feel Shiro trembling against his back. He numbly registered that he seemed to be having some sort of panic attack.

“Y-yeah,” stuttered Shiro, finally saying something other than _no_.

“They’re going to kill us. They’re going to kill me, they’re going to kill you, _and_ they’re going to kill Keith,” said Hunk, voice impressively steady and reasonable.

“Keith doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want to be torn apart by them. If you let him die now, the day will reset and everything will be fine. Keith will be fine. You just have to let him go for now first…”

Keith forcefully swallowed the blood in his mouth so he could speak.

“ _Shiro_ ,” he breathed, reaching up with his free to paw at Shiro’s bicep, trying to get his attention. Shiro granted it to him, looking at him with wild, sorrowful eyes.

“Hunk’s right. Don’t wanna watch you die… _hurts_ when they do it…” he choked out, voice barely audible over the screams of the monsters.

He felt the tension drain out of Shiro’s body, and then he let go of Keith’s hand around the hilt of his dagger.

“Don’t pull it out. Leave it, I can make this painless,” said Shiro quietly, barely audible above the screams of the monsters. 

The metal of Shiro’s left hand was cool against the back of Keith's neck, and his human hand came around to grip Keith's chin.

Keith felt a twisting pinch, and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH THIS TOOK SO LOOONNGG TO WRITE!!!
> 
> I'm sorry!
> 
> I was distracted writing another fic which is most self-indulgent thing ever. 
> 
> I feel not entirely happy with this. This is me saying 'fuck it, just post it' lol
> 
> What did you think of Hunk and Shiro?
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> You can come say hi to me on tumblr [here](https://greenteafiend.tumblr.com/) if you want.


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